In search of a Queen
by Doodlewolf
Summary: Thorin had never intended to take a wife or have children of his own – but rivals for his throne have uncovered an ancient law that dictates he must produce heirs to remain King under the Mountain, which means he must first find a Queen! And candidates are in no short supply! ThorinxOC
1. Chapter 1

**This is a little something I've been writing on the side of my other hobbit fic, which I've decided to throw up here too. Set a few years after the Battle of the five armies, which Thorin and his nephews survived. Hope you like it, please read and review, I'd love to know what you guys think of it - the next chapter will have some more familiar faces, though there is one hidden a little sneakily in here if you can find him?**

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In search of a Queen

Chapter 1

I watch with a sour expression as my pony grows closer and closer to the looming mountain that is our destination. Several weeks of travel have bought my family from deep within the dwarven fortress of Norinbad, in the Grey Mountains, to the foot of Erebor – and I have hated every moment of it.

It is not the travel itself I disliked – in fact I quite enjoyed being able to get out and see the rest of the world – no, it was the purpose of out journey that I am against.

The reason for our long and -in my opinion- pointless journey was riding a little ahead of myself, with mother and father. My sister, Trúin, who fancies herself a bit of a princess already, is eager to try and elevate herself to the rank of Queen and she was willing to uproot the entire family in order to do it.

Trúin, the first born child of Dalkin and Yutte, who can do no wrong in our parents eyes. She is the perfect lady, with sparkling blue eyes and rosy cheeks framed by long golden hair – an uncommon thing amongst dwarves, which only adds to her flawlessness, much to my annoyance. She is of course, mother's unofficial favourite.

There is muffled chuckling to my left, and I realise I have been glaring at my sisters back for some time. With a grunt I cast one last look at my oblivious sister before turning to look at my brother, who is grinning from ear to ear.

"You know your face will stick like that, if the wind changes." Brúin says, still smiling.

"Well at least then I won't have to look like you any more." I grumble back.

Brúin is the second born child and first born son, which makes him the heir and father's unofficial favourite. He is also my twin, much to our parent's delight. Twins are another uncommon sight among dwarves, and very rarely do both survive, so we are another feather in our mothers cap.

Where Trúin is light haired and fair skinned, Brúin and I are dark. We share the same thick brown hair and deep grey eyes, flecked with silver. There are differences, of course – Brúin, for example, has a rather impressive beard, while my face remains bare of all but sideburns, and his face a more weather beaten than mine since he has travelled more than I.

"You wound me, little sister." Brúin says, pressing a hand to his chest with a pained expression. I smirked and rolled my eyes.

"I certainly will if you're not careful," I replied pleasantly. "Now leave me to sulk in peace, if you will."

"Must you still be angry Rúin? It is beginning to get boring." Brúin huffs, rubbing a hand across his chin, mussing his beard.

"Yes, I must still be angry!" I snapped, hands tightening on the reins. "So should you for that matter! We are neither of us younglings any more, why did we even have to come?"

"Aren't you even a little curious to see what Erebor looks like?" Brúin questioned, a rare frown crossing his face. "After all the stories father told us?"

"It is a mountain, Brúin, and we have certainly seen plenty of them," I countered, feeling unreasonably annoyed with him for not sharing my feelings on the move. "We are only moving because it was what Trúin wants, and she always gets her way."

"You cannot blame her," Brúin shrugs, letting his eyes wander first to our sister in front, then to the lonely mountain itself. "We were minor nobility in Norinbad but here we've the chance to become royalty. Does that not appeal to you, even in the slightest?"

"It appeals to me about as much as an arrow in the knee," I say, jabbing myself in the leg with a finger to get my point across. "Besides, I'll bet there are more noble ladies under that mountain than you can count – what are the chances that Trúin will be the one?"

"Slim, but the same goes for all those other ladies," Brúin shrugged again. "And none of them have our mother! She is a force to be reckoned with and she wants this almost as much as Trúin does."

"I wonder if King Thorin realises he is about to let another dragon into his mountain?" I ponder, smirking at mothers back as Brúin lets out a loud belly laugh from beside me that leaves my ears ringing.

"Whatever you two are scheming back there, stop it." Father's gruff voice calls from up front. We both looked up to see that he had paused his pony and was watching us with his thick dark brows pulled down into a frown.

"Scheming!" Brúin repeats, as if the very word offends him.

"Father, we would never!" I add, my eyes widening innocently.

"Well see that you don't, your mother is pulled tighter than a bow string as it is," Dalkin grumbles as the two of us draw level with him. "The last thing I need is the two of you setting her off!"

"Then perhaps you should have thought about that before you dragged us all the way down here." I muttered quietly. Not quiet enough, it would seem, because father fixes me with a hard look.

"And perhaps you should remember what your mother said about that attitude of yours lass," Dalkin warned, making me pout despite myself. "Sometimes we must do things that we don't want to, for the sake of others."

"For the sake of Trúin, you mean?" I ask. It is not a wise comment on my part, especially since he has just warned me on my attitude, and I know I am being petty but I am still angry about it.

"For the sake of our family," Father replies flatly. "You are the youngest of my children, you are unmarried and despite being one hundred and seventy you and your brother still act as if you were babes – so you will go where I go and do as I do, until such time as I see fit you say otherwise. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes father." I say through gritted teeth, keeping my eyes locked with his. Brúin and I get our colouring from our father, who looks more like a bear than a dwarf, so covered in dark hair is he.

"To do as you do, we would have to start drinking more." Brúin cuts in, breaking my fathers gaze from me and turning it onto himself as he attempts to lighten the mood.

"And eating more." I put in, grateful for the change of subject.

"You are lucky that the two of you have grown too big to put over my knee," Dalkin grumbled, eyes flicking between the two of us and looking unimpressed. "Because you're both in need of a good thrashing."

"I don't think you could beat the both of us, father." Brúin says, giving a cheeky grin that I mirror a moment later. Father splutters and his face turns a comical shade of pink at the thought.

"You think you could beat me, lad?" He asks, his eyebrows raising and his beard twitching. "I taught you little dirt lickers everything you know about fighting!"

"Yes, but there are two of us." I say, still smiling.

"And you're not as young as you used to be!" Brúin points out. Our father looks as if he is about to throw himself off his pony and tackle my brother to the ground – which would have been quite entertaining, if mother had not intervened.

"Dalkin!" Her voice slices through my fathers anger, firm and furious. Both Mother and Trúin have stopped their ponies and are watching us with equally disapproving looks. My fathers head whips round and I can see Brúin trying to hold back his chuckle as the anger drains from Dalkin's face and is replaced by an expression of chargrin.

"Yes dear?" He questions. It is a constant source of entertainment for Brúin and I, that our father can go from angry dwarven war machine to kicked puppy in a matter of seconds. I have seen my father take down a warg with his bare hands before, but apparently that is nothing compared to my mothers anger.

"I thought I told you – _all_ of you- how important our first impression is!" Mother says in a dangerous voice. "We are going to present ourselves to the King, not enter a tavern brawl!"

"Yes dear, it won't happen again," Father assures her, then turns to us with a growl. "Will it, you two?"

"Of course not father." I say, giving him my most winning smile, the one that has always gotten me out of trouble. Father regards me for a moment as if he is suspicious of my willingness to comply, before turning his steely gaze to my twin.

"As my little sister says," Brúin says with a copy of my smile, though it has never worked for him as well as it does for me. Still, father is apparently satisfied. He grunts and nudges his pony back to where mother and Trúin are waiting. Brúin is silent until he is out of ear shot before leaning towards me slightly and whispering "We would not want to incur mothers wrath, after all."

I snort, and the two of us fall in behind the rest of our family as we approach the grand doors, flanked by huge carved stone statues. Now they are impressive, certainly more so than anything I have ever seen in Norinbad. I will not admit it out loud, but perhaps Erebor's architecture will make my trip worth while.

We dismount once we reach the gate, my father assisting mother and Brúin helping Trúin. I hop down on my own, dusting off my travel dirtied breeches and patting my pony as I wait for the others.

Father takes my reins and disappears with Brúin and the others ponies, heading off towards a ramp which looks as if it leads down under the walkway we have just ridden up and into the roots of the mountain. I assume this is where the stables are.

"Now, we have some time to freshen up before our audience with his majesty," My mother says as she fusses with my sisters hair. I tug at my own, looking over the numerous strands escaping from my braids – I suppose I _could_ look a little more respectable. "Rúin, oh come here my girl, just look at you."

Yutte grabs me by the elbow and begins preening me, which I suspect is a wasted effort on her part, but I stand and take it because to argue with mother is a fruitless experience. She gives up when she sees my father and brother returning with a few of our bags, the rest of which have been whisked off to Mahal knows where.

"Oh good! Brúin, dear, _do_ be careful! Those dresses have not survived all this way for you to throw them on the floor now!" Mother says, hurrying forwards to take the carefully wrapped bundles from his hands. "Here you go, Trúin, this one is yours." Then she turns to me, holding out a second bag.

I frown.

"We do not have all day Rúin," Mother says, firmly pushing the package into my unwilling arms. "No daughter of mine is going to meet a King looking like that!"

"Mother I thought we had discussed -" I began, but she cut me off.

"I have already told you! You don't see your sister making a fuss, do you?" Mother asked, motioning to Trúin who smiles pleasantly at me in a way that makes me want to punch her. "Right, come along, Dalkin, you and Brúin have your change of clothes?"

"Yes dear, right here." Father says, lifting his own parcel with a look similar to my own. Well at least he doesn't have to wear a dress!

When I was younger I always wore dresses, because that was the only way Brúin and I could be told apart, without yanking our trousers down of course. As I grew older however and it became easier to differentiate between my brother and myself, I began wearing trousers – mainly because when father whisked Brúin off to teach him how to fight, I wanted to go too.

I follow reluctantly behind mother and Trúin as we finally enter Erebor and promptly stop dead, causing Brúin to curse as he walked straight into my back, sending the both of us sprawling. There is a few moments of awkward fumbling as we untangle ourselves and get back to our feet, trying to ignore the icy gaze of our mother.

"Why in Durin's name did you stop?" Brúin demands, but I ignore him in favour of filling my eyes with every glimpse of Erebor I can get. It is truly magnificent.

We had entered into a large open room with a ceiling so high it made me dizzy to look at! The walls

were carved right into the rock, and every surface was a rippled green, like malachite with veins of quarts running through them. Stairways led off in different directions, some going up, some descending into the mountain and each one beautifully carved with a golden handrail running along its side.

Fires were lit in strategic places, their light bouncing off plates of gold set into the walls and illuminating the Kingdom under the Mountain in a warm glow. The light caught the silvery lines in the walls too, making them shine.

"Durin's beard, look at this place!" I breathed, eyes wide in awe that I couldn't suppress even if I'd wanted to.

"Welcome to Erebor my girl," My father said, clapping a hand down on my shoulder and partially breaking me from my revere. "Welcome home."

My father knows full well that Norinbad is my home. I may have been born in Erebor, but I was raised in Norinbad – that is where I grew up, where most of my friends still reside and where my life was, until we came here.

I remember nothing of this place, and it is certainly somewhere I would remember had I been old enough.

"You will have time to admire the view later," Mother assures me, though she is getting impatient. She beckons me forwards as a steward greets us, and then we are off, following our dwarf guide as he directs us to one of the many rooms that Erebor holds.

I try to pay attention to where we are going, but lose interest after the first two turns, my eyes drawn back to the Kingdom under the mountain. It really is amazing.

"Rúin, pay attention to where you are going!" My mother scolds as I almost knock into a dwarf miner in a floppy hat. His moustache curls up as he smiles, and gives me a wink before stepping around me, I walk backwards a few steps to watch him go before Brúin grabs my arm and spins me back around to avoid any more collisions.

We are directed into a large room, partitioned by wooden panels decorated in silvery patterns. It's a bustle of activity and almost filled to bursting with ladies trying to pretty themselves up for their first meeting with the King.

Brúin and Dalkin are shooed off to a different section or another room entirely, I'm not sure because mother is dragging me forwards and thrusting me into a booth, Trúin follows a second behind with Yutte bringing up the rear.

"Right my lovely girls, lets get to work!" She says, clapping her hands.

If I had been allowed to slouch, I would have. Instead I sat with my back straight and allowed my mother to drag a brush through my hair, beating out any knots and tangles that got in her way. I would have done it myself, but the dress I am wearing is quite restrictive of my movements, anything above shoulder height is lost to me.

As dresses go it is not the worst one I have ever been forced into – we will not speak of that one – and as I am not fond of admitting that I am wrong I will not be telling mother that I actually quite like it.

The dress itself is simple, emerald green and made of some silky sort of material with white lace down the bodice. There are golden bands around the cuffs and hem, with gold embroidering. Simple compared to many of the others I see around me, but that suits me just fine.

"Mother, there are many other Ladies here." Trúin says, and I am surprised to find that she sounds nervous. Little miss perfect, having doubts?

"Yes dear, there are," My mother says from behind me, trying to tease out a particularly stubborn tangle. "But we anticipated that, it's not every day a King searches for a queen! Competition is expected."

"Why are they so many of them wearing blue?" I ask, glancing down at my own green dress, then to Trúin in her navy one, and then to the gaggle of women folk who are gathered outside of our cubicle, all wearing varying shades of blue.

"Did you pay attention to any of the lessons mother gave you?" Trúin asks in familiar superior tone – apparently her moment of nervousness has past.

"I would not of asked, if I had." I reply, not even bothering to look at her.

"Rúin, honestly!" Mother huffs, almost breaking the handle off the brush as she forces it through my hair. "We spent almost a week going over what colours represent!"

"Did we?" I question, wincing slightly. "It was obviously thrilling."

"You'll get a clout in a moment my girl," My mother warns. She is close enough to my head that I decide to watch my mouth, if possible. "Now think!"

I think, and then think some more. I have a feeling that the week my mother started teaching me about colours was also the week my father introduced me to my first bow. Which means I have absolutely no idea what they're meant to mean.

"Ugh, blue is the colour of royalty," Trúin tells me, earning a frown from my mother, who had obviously wanted me to get it on my own. It's almost as if I am a child again. "By wearing blue candidates are matched with the King, he is more likely to feel that we are more attuned to him, more at his level."

"Instead of minor nobles, which is what everyone here really is?" I question. My sister looks as if she is going to say something rude, but doesn't get the chance, because mother has finally fought her way through the birds nest that is my hair.

"Not everyone here is a minor noble dear, I have seen several very influential people already," Yutte tells me, pushing me back down into the chair as I try to rise. I can feel her tugging at my hair, plaiting a braid on either side of my head and joining them together at the back. "It seems as though everyone else has had the same idea as we, with blue."

"What does green mean then?" I ask, making a braid of my own, starting just under my left ear and going down till I run out of hair. Mother hands me a small silver clasp that I use to hold it in place before repeating the process on the other side.

"Green lets everyone else know that you're a second hand choice." Trúin tells me, with a smile.

"Trúin!" Mother snaps, putting a hand on my shoulder as if my sisters words have hurt me. They have not. I am neither the first girl child nor the first boy child, I have no expectations placed upon me as Trúin and Brúin do, and as such I am without much social standing. Very few dwarves have more than two children, one is uncommon and three is simply ridiculous – having more than one girl is also rare.

Had I been born a boy, I could have gone off to become a guard or soldier, something respectable for a second son without the responsibility of being heir. But alas, I was not. Not that it stopped me from trying though.

Mother wanted me to become a proper lady, like herself and Trúin, and father didn't care one way or another – until I showed interest in fighting. Dwarven women are fierce by nature, though not many are proficient at fighting with weapons like the men are. My father wanted to see how I faired with a sword in my hand, and so mother tried to teach me how to be a lady and father tried to teach me how to be a warrior. I learnt bits from each of them, though not as well as either of my siblings, as you can probably tell. Jack of all trades, master of none.

"Fine by me, I don't really want to be a choice at all." I say, shrugging off my mothers comforting hand and standing. I want to stretch, but I'm afraid something will rip if I try to reach up over my head.

"I think we are ready," Mother says after a few final touches to Trúin's hair. She takes a step backwards and looks at the two of us – my sister, with her shining golden hair, brilliant smile and sparkling eyes that match her stunning, intricate blue dress. Then to me with my neatly brushed brown hair, uneasy grin and cloudy grey eyes, standing awkwardly in my simple dress – under which I am still wearing my boots. "Perfect!"

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**There you have it! For those who are wondering, Rúin (and siblings) is pronounced more like Ruen than Ruin and Yutte is pronounced Yut, Dalkin is pretty much just how it's spelt! Thanks again for reading and please review :D **


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow! Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed, certainly made me want to write another chapter up! I'm glad you like it so far and he's another chapter! **

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In search of a Queen

Chapter 2

My father and Brúin are waiting by the entrance in amongst a group of other bored looking male relatives, none of them really talking to each other, just muttering collectively.

"Ah, Yutte! My dear," My father says, easily pushing his way through the other men to reach my mothers side, where his kisses her cheek. "By Mahal you look beautiful. All of you!"

My mother lets out a laugh and slaps my father's chest as if he is the most charming man in all of Middle Earth, I roll my eyes. Brúin snorts and comes to stand beside me, his eyes taking in my dress and annoyed expression in a glance, then he grins.

"I'd say you look lovely too, little sister," My brother shrugs, nudging me in the side. "But you've always had a rather good looking face."

"You're lucky we're identical twins, imagine how you could have looked!" I say, he smirks and links his arm through mine as mother and Trúin sweep out of the room. Father casts a warning glare in our direction - as if he expects us to make a run for it - then he follows after his wife and eldest child. I sigh and Brúin drags me after them.

My trip to the Kings meeting chamber is spent much like the rest of my time in Erebor has been, with my head tilted back to the vaulted ceiling, a look of wonder on my face, while someone else steers me.

"Imagine how long it must have taken to build all this!" I say, my eyes drawn to a wall etching. This one has been damaged – I assume by the dragon that resided here a short time ago, though it could just be time that has caused it's decay – and is crumbling from the stone, but you can still see the warrior it depicts, lined in silver and gold.

"I thought you had no interest in Erebor," Brúin grumbles beside me as he pulls me from the path of a troop of soldiers. "I believe your words were: _It's just a mountain, Brúin, we've seen lots of mountains."_

"Firstly, I don't sound like that!" I tell him with a frown, he smirks. His voice is much too deep to replicate mine, so he does a high pitched whine when attempting to impersonate me. "And secondly I didn't know it would be so... so.."

"Pretty?" He offers when words fail me. I roll my eyes.

"It is much more than pretty, but yes." I say as we enter what I assume to be the King's hall. It is as vast as the entry chamber with huge statutes of dwarven warriors carved along it's edges. The high ceiling rests upon their impressive axes and I wonder if they are more than just for decoration or if they serve a structural purpose. I don't have time to ponder on this however, because we are here.

We are also not the first to arrive. There are several families ahead of us, waiting for their chance to greet the king, and I am unsurprised that almost all of them include a beautiful dwarven lady. I can barely even see the king over the heads gathered in front of us, just the top of his throne and perhaps the start of his crown. I huff. I can however see two young dwarflings standing on either side of the throne, which I think must be the princes.

"Perhaps we could come back later?" I suggest a little optimistically, the thought of standing in line for hours does not appeal to me in the slightest. Brúin and Trúin turn to me - one grinning, one frowning.

"Don't you dare ruin this for me," Trúin snaps, her pretty face scrunching up in what she must think is an expression of intimidation, but really just puts me in mind of a rabbit twitching it's nose. "I swear to Mahal!"

"Come now, big sister, Rúin never messes things up intentionally." Brúin assures her, stepping away from me to take his place beside Trúin. He loops his arm through hers and turns her back around, away from me and any retaliation I can make, then winks back over his shoulder in my direction.

I snort. My brother Brúin, the eternal peace keeper.

We edge forwards onto the walkway that leads to the Kings platform as he dismisses one of the families in front of us. More people press in behind me and I use all of my willpower to keep my eyes fixed on the back of my siblings heads and not straying to the incredible carvings that surround me. I content myself for the moment by studying the architecture from my peripherals, vowing that – unless something goes terribly wrong – I will be able to come back and look at everything later.

Another small shuffle forwards, then another and another, though we seem no closer to the front of the line than we had ten minutes ago. I occupy myself by looking casually over the railing to my left, down into the depths of the mountain.

Below me walkways and stone paths criss cross in the air, some meeting, connected by large platforms that seem to defy gravity. Some lead to sealed rooms, others head off into the mountain itself, to the residential area or perhaps the kitchens. I see Brúin move forwards again and am pushed into the space he has just vacated by the family behind me, who are obviously eager for their own chance to greet the King.

Eventually we reach the front of the line as the mother, father and daughter who had been before us disperse and disappear down another pathway, my own family fill their space. Unfortunately I have fully given over to my desire to ogle the infrastructure of the Kingdom under the Mountain and am not paying attention when the rest of my family bowed and curtseyed to the man on the throne.

"Rúin!" Brúin hissed at me, and I turned to him with the intention of pointing out the amazing crystal lights that shone from the ceiling above the kings throne – only to see him kneeling on the floor. I blinked, first confused, then filled with a sense of uncontrollable horror. My gaze rose to the throne and met with a pair of intense dark blue eyes, watching me under thick brows. With a breathless curse I dropped to my knee, forgetting entirely that not only was I wearing a dress but that I am in fact a woman and should have curtseyed. Shit.

I can _feel_ Brúin trying to contain his laughter beside me, his shoulders shaking as he makes a poor attempt to control his mirth. My face is burning with humiliation and I have no desire to get to my feet when a deep voice calls for us to: "Rise."

Brúin's strong hand takes hold of my elbow as he stands, hoisting me up with him. I am half grateful, because I don't know if I could have managed it on my own – and half angry, because I had been hoping the stone would swallow me whole. I do not need a mirror to know that my face is red with embarrassment, nor do I need to look over to my mother and sister to see their expressions of suppressed fury. This is exactly the thing that I was not supposed to do.

"Come forward," The king commands. My father steps towards the raised dais with my mother on his arm, Trúin and Brúin follow and I slink after them, partially hiding myself behind Brúin's bulk as we stand before the king. "You may begin."

"I am Dalkin son of Haldin, your majesty," My father says, bowing low at the waist. "This is my wife, the Lady Yutte, daughter of Yevna."

My father never refers to himself as a Lord, even though he technically became one when he married my mother and received three lordling children by her. He has always been a soldier at heart, and does not see himself as anything more than a working class grunt who was lucky enough to marry a woman such as the Lady Yutte.

Mother on the other hand has always been a noble, and no doubt shocked everyone when she fell in love with a dirty, hairy man like my father. No one denied them, of course, when a dwarf falls in love it is for life.

My mother gives the king a radiant smile, something that my sister has never been able to quite pull off despite mothers teaching- apparently you cannot just smile, there is an art to it – then she steps back slightly as my father begins his introductions of us.

"And these are my children, your majesty – my son, heir and second born, Lord Brúin!" Brúin is always introduced first, and I understand the reason behind it, though it has always annoyed me and I can't quite figure out why.

Brúin strides forwards and gives his bow, leaving me exposed and still embarrassed from my previous mistake. The King gives him a nod and thankfully doesn't look past him till Trúin is introduced.

"My first born, my daughter, the Lady Trúin." Father says as Trúin steps up to stand on Brúin's left. She drops into a perfect curtsey, fluttering her eyelashes and smiling shyly up at the king, just as mother taught her.

I feel distinctly uncomfortable as father lays a hand on my arm and guides me forwards, as if he's worried I will trip and further embarrass the family.

"My third child and second daughter, Lady Rúin." He says, nudging me towards my siblings. I take my place on Brúin's other side, giving my best attempt at a curtsey, though it still feels awkward to me. I don't make eye contact – which may be rude, I can't remember what mother said was the correct thing for me to do – but I have humiliated myself enough already today.

"Twins?" I hear the king question and groan inwardly, willing his majesty to not continue this line of conversation and focus on Trúin instead – so that I can return to hiding behind Brúin's blocky form.

"Yes, my king," My father nods, a broad smile on his face. "Mahal blessed us."

Ugh. Stop it.

"It is certainly rare to see twins, these days," Thorin Oakenshield observed, probably referring to the fact that we are both still alive. "You have a strong line."

"Thank you, my king!" My father says.

I can see my father out of the corner of my eye, ducking and bobbing in gratitude to the king. It's a compliment, of course, that the offspring of my fathers line have endured so well, it speaks well of any future children Trúin might give.

"And you, Master Dalkin, what is your profession?" The king asked after a moment. I count to five in my head and look up, hoping his gaze has moved on now. I am relieved to see it has, and I let out a thankful sigh.

"Me, my lord?" My father questions, puffing out his impressive chest. "I am a soldier, my king and -" My mother lays a gentle hand on my fathers arm and he clears his throat. "Though I have taken to smithing in recent years."

My father may not look it - because he's built like an ox and his hair is still blacker then it is grey - but he is pushing three hundred years old. While he has lost little of his strength, his reactions have slowed somewhat. It took some convincing by mother, but she was finally able to persuade him to take up another career that required less fighting – so he became a blacksmith.

"A good craft," The king nods again. "Smiths are always welcome in Erebor. What of your family?"

"Brúin is a fine warrior, my king, skilled and seasoned," Father says, slapping a hand against his son's shoulder. I smirk, because both of them look so proud of each other, grinning like idiots. "Yutte and Trúin have some small skill in healing too, my king."

"And your other daughter?" His majesty asks. It takes me a minute to realise he is talking about me, and I wince. But I am curious to see what father says about his _other_ daughter, who is neither a noble lady nor an accomplished warrior. Perhaps he will just remain silent?

"Rúin has some talent with a bow, my Lord." Father says, giving me a small smile.

I am strangely happy at this acknowledgement, and surprised that he even thought to mention it. Brúin has excelled with every weapon he has ever tried but was never interested in learning how to shoot - and my father was never very concerned in teaching him, more focused on fighting that require you to be up close and personal. That left the bow to me.

"An archer?" Thorin questions, turning his head slightly in my direction. I keep my gaze fixed a little to the left of his face, so I don't accidentally make eye contact again, I nod. "Did you hear that, Kili?"

"Yes uncle," The dark haired dwarfling standing at the kings left side answered, beaming at me. I blink in confusion. "Perhaps the Lady Rúin will shoot with me, one day?"

There is silence, and I realise the question was aimed at me.

"I -uh- I would be honoured." I stutter, feeling uncomfortable.

The king addresses my mother and sister for a few moments while I try to figure out what has just happened. The dark haired youth – Kili- is bouncing on the balls of his feet, as if he is genuinely excited at the prospect of practising with me, which is baffling.

While the King is talking to my eldest sibling I take the chance to look at him, and try not to frown. He looks powerful, as a King should be, with a strong nose and angular jawline hidden under a dark beard. His hair is long with few braids and streaked with lines of silver, like the walls of Erebor themselves – he is not unattractive, but there is something about him that I find unnerving. I think it's the fact that he hasn't smiled once since we've been standing here - And his eyes. He's got cold eyes, dark, the colour of the twilight sky.

I look away and try to find something else to distract myself with while I wait for this to be over – luckily distractions are not hard to find in the Kingdom under the Mountain. I spend the next few minutes marvelling at the detail that has gone into shaping the stairs and chiselling the sigils on the floor in front of me. They look like little rivers of molten gold, running across the floor.

"Thank you my King." My father says, and I pay attention this time as he starts to bow. I curtsey along with my mother and sister and shuffle after them as they file out along the ramp to our left.

As soon as we are out of the kings sight and hearing my sister turns on me, looking furious.

"You fool! You did that on purpose to make me look stupid!" She accuses, jabbing a finger into my chest which makes me frown. I may not be able to beat Brúin in a fight – thought I'll always give it a go – but I have no doubts who would win between myself and Trúin.

"I do not do anything to make you look stupid, _sister_, you manage that well enough on your own," I retort, not backing down. "What happened in there was a product of my inattentiveness and not an attempt to make you look bad – contrary to popular belief not everything is about you."

"Trúin! Rúin!" Mother snaps. "That is enough! I don't want to hear another word!"

"But mother-!" Trúin begins, but Yutte cuts her off with a sharp look.

"Not another word!" Mother repeats, grinding out each syllable before turning away to face the dwarf man who has been hovering nervously behind her for the duration of our short fight. "Yes?"

"Lady Yutte? I'm here to guide you to your rooms?" The dwarf man tells her. Mother's icy expression melts and is replaced with a warm smile.

"Excellent, I think we would all appreciate that, thank you," She says, shooting Trúin and I a look. "Please, lead on."

We are following the rather flustered looking steward to our rooms, who I can tell is starting to annoy my father with all his bowing and scraping. The corridors he takes us along send us into the mountain proper, instead of the expansive open chamber. The walls here are not so frequently decorated as they were in the entrance halls and throne room, but they are still made of the same beautiful shimmering green rock.

I run a hand over the wall as I follow behind my brother and sister, pausing at a etching to trail my fingers through the grooves in the stone, then hurrying to catch up because otherwise I am sure to get lost.

Finally our guide comes to a stop outside a door and turns to my father, who grunts.

"Lord Dalkin, Lady Yutte, these are your rooms," He says, producing four keys from somewhere within his tunic and passing them to my father. "These four here."

"Thank you." My father says, nodding to the man who bows again.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, my lord?" The steward asks, and I can hear my fathers teeth grinding as he shakes his head. "If you need anything you may ask anyone with a grey tunic, they will assist you."

"Thank you," My father repeats and the other dwarf makes a hasty retreat from his dark gaze. "Blast the man!"

"Dalkin!" My mother chides. "He was just doing his job, do not act so childishly!"

"Yes dear," My father mutters, looking sulky. He takes a quick glance at the keys in his hands and matches the symbols on each to the corresponding doors. After handing one to mother he turns to us, holding the keys. "Here, take them and go."

Trúin takes the first one he offers, then Brúin, and I am left with the remaining one – which just so happens to be the door we are all standing in front of. Mother and Father take their leave – a notion that I copy, because I know as soon as they were gone Trúin will try and maul me.

I have opened the door, stepped into my room and closed the door before either of my siblings can say a word, pressing my back against the stone with a sigh. It is a relief to finally have a place of my own again. I love my family - as much as it might not seem like it at all times - but I am not a child, and constantly being in their presence is physically draining for me.

I sigh again and look up. From my place against the door I have a good view of my entire room, and I quickly take stock of it's contents.

The bed is the defining feature of the room. It is pressed up against the left hand wall and is made of a dark wood that I cannot identify, with flame coloured drapes hanging from the posts at each corner. The posts themselves are plain and bare of carving though they are shaped, growing thinner the higher up they go, simple but elegant.

Beside the bed sits a small table, with an unlit candle upon it and at it's foot there is a chest, made of the same dark wood – in fact all the furniture is made of it – with an ornate metal lock. I will not lack for storage space, it seems. Set in the middle of the right wall is a small fireplace though it is cold at the moment, with a desk on it's right – or rather a vanity table, I suppose – with an intricately carved mirror set on top of it. There is also a basin, slightly cracked, that stands on the other side of the fireplace. A thin pipe runs from the taps and disappears into the wall, Mahal knows where to.

I kick off my boots, careful not to rip the dress as I do so and push off from the door. On the far wall there is also a two doored wardrobe with shining gold handles but I pay that little attention because opposite the entrance to my room is another door.

Curious.

I pause mid way to the door to wiggle my toes in the thick rug that lies in the centre of the room, the only barrier between my feet and the cold stone floor. It's a rich red colour with golden highlights, and warm enough that I could fall asleep on it if I wanted to.

I reach the other side and test the door, it's unlocked, so I push it open and step through into a larger room, a frown on my face. It appears to be a family chamber, with a large wooden table at it's centre which is surrounded by six chairs. I take a step forwards at the same time a door opens to my left and I turn to see Brúin stick his head out and look around.

"Ah, little sister, curious minds think alike it would seem!" Brúin says, stepping out of his room and grinning at me. "We've even been gifted with a place to share quality time with the family."

"So it would seem," I mutter, looking around. There is a fireplace on the back wall, though it is cold at the moment - along with what looks to be a food preparation area, though that too is in disuse, and will remain so until we purchase some supplies. "I think I will be keeping this door locked."

"My sweet little sister, you are as cold as the snow on the mountain," Brúin said with a chuckle, planting his hands on his hips and taking a deep breath. "Rooms aren't bad though, a little smaller than our quarters in Norinbad but nothing to turn a nose up at."

"Are you worried you'll not have enough space to house all your many possessions?" I ask with a snort. Brúin and I bought very little in way of personal items on our trip, unlike some other members of our family which will remain nameless.

"That was a concern," Brúin smirked, nodding. "Though at least I've a double bed."

"Yes, at least you'll be comfortable as you sleep alone." I say. Brúin pulls a face and huffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"My, my, you certainly are grumpy today!" My brother tells me, and I can see that I have annoyed him.

"Sorry, Brúin, I am tired," I say, though it is no excuse for being so short with him. Brúin has an unnatural patience, especially with me, and it takes a lot to make him show any emotion beyond his casual amusement. "It has been a long trip."

"Then please, for Mahal's sake, go and rest!" Brúin says as he all but shoves me back towards my room. "I don't think I can take any more of your acid little sister."

"I can't sleep in this dress!" I say, pulling at the green fabric with a frown. "It's restrictive enough when I'm awake, it'll probably strangle me in my sleep."

"Then I will go and fetch you your bags," Brúin says, bowing low to me. "As a good older brother should."

"I can go, Brúin." I tell him, but he shakes his head and nudges me back towards my room.

"You? You'll never come back!" He chuckles, starting to close the door on me once I am back inside. "We'll find you weeks from now, with your head down a mine shaft, wondering how they've supported it."

And with that he is gone, leaving me alone in my room to wait for his return along with my things. I huff to myself, and drop down onto my bed, yawning as I do so. As soon as Brúin drops my things off I change into my sleep clothes, crawl into the exceptionally comfortable bed and fall asleep.

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**So, I hope you enjoyed it and that our first meeting with the King under the Mountain was suitably awkward and brief. Hopefully everything makes sense and you're able to follow my layout of Erebor since I'm mostly winging it. **

**On another note, I know that the average life expectancy of a dwarf is around 250 - but for the sake of not killing off all my characters before I've started I'm working on the basis that 350 is more normal for them, which not only gives Dalkin and Yutte a few more years, but also makes Thorin a more believable age to sire children. I know it's not canon, and I hope you'll forgive me :)**

** The next chapter will have plenty of the Twins with some Erebor-exploration. ****I'll be working on my other fic before I post chapter three however, **so stay tuned! Thanks so much for reading and I would LOVE any reviews, favourite, follows that you see fit to give me! 


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, so I decided to upload this chapter because I'm enjoying writing this one and I might as well, right? Once again I hope you can follow my directions and descriptions of Erebor - it's a lot easier to think about it in my head than write it down! Get ready for some Rúin+Brúin hangout time! Please read and review! **

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Chapter 3

When I wake up it is morning, or so Brúin tells me when he knocks on my door with the promise of breakfast. I yawn and run a hand through my dishevelled hair, undecided if my hunger outweighs my need for more sleep, because I still feel tired. My stomach wins the unspoken argument with a rumble and I join Brúin at the family table after a moment.

"Where are the others?" I ask as I sit, motioning vaguely to the closed doors that lead to my parents room and Trúin's. Brúin has laid out a small collection of sausage, eggs and bacon for the two of us, along with some bread and tomatoes. Where he got it all I don't know.

"They chose to eat in one of the dining halls on the lower levels," Brúin tells me as he piles food onto his plate, taking a bit of everything. "I think mother hoped they might see his Majesty, but he hadn't appeared when I left."

"Do you think he really eats with the peasants?" I ask dryly around a mouthful of bacon. Brúin snorts.

"I do not think mother would appreciate being called a peasant! Honestly I don't know, it seems odd that he would," Brúin admits. "But mother was adamant."

"And why did you not stay with them?" I question, he rolls his eyes across the table at me and swallows his mouthful before replying.

"Because, dear sister, I did not want you to starve!" He says, pointing a fork in my direction. "I know you, and you sleep like the dead – I bought the food to lure you from your slumber."

"You are too good to me, brother." I grin, scraping up my eggs.

"I am," He agrees, diving in for a second helping of everything, which effectively clears the plates. I let out an annoyed hmm. "Father also suggested we purchase some new attire, and you know how I hate shopping with mother."

"No one enjoys shopping with mother," I say, then shrug one shoulder. "Except Trúin, but she is close enough to mothers clone that I don't think she counts."

"I thought sleeping was supposed to remove the bite from your words," Brúin muses as he finishes his breakfast, mopping up any juice with a slice of thick bread. "Or do you require a few more hours?"

"If you do not agree with me then you are welcome to go and find your new clothes with mother instead," I grumble, pushing to my feet and stacking the plates together as Brúin pulls a face. "Let me change, then we can return the plates and get a proper look at Erebor!"

"No need." Brúin says, stretching his arms up over his head and belching. He would certainly not have done that had Yutte been present.

"I am not about to go wandering around in my night clothes!" I tell him, eyebrows drawing down into a frown, Brúin laughs.

"I meant the plates!" He clarifies, collecting the dishes in his arms and turning for his room. "The lass who served me in the kitchens told me that there are alcoves where we can put our dishes after using them. The maids collect them, so she said anyway."

"I see. I wonder how many people work here?" I ponder, heading back into my room to unearth my clothes. "There must be many."

"I should think so!" Brúin calls. I can hear him clanking around with the plates and he goes to find somewhere to deposit them. I take the chance to change in his absence, pulling on a pair of dark grey trousers and a white blouse which is crinkled from it's time in my pack. I slip on my boots and fasten on my belt, forgoing my sword because I know mother will disapprove.

"I suppose they get paid quite well though, especially with all the nobles flocking to Erebor recently!" Brúin's voice drifts in as he returns – without the dishes by the sound of it. I dig out a small bag of money and slip it into the pouch on my hip, because father is right - I do need some new clothes – then I go out to meet Brúin in the hallway. "The servants, I mean."

"I figured as much," I tell him as I lock my door and pocket the key. "I am ready."

"I figured as much!" He repeats with a smile, locking his own room. "I cannot decide where we should visit first."

"From the smell of you I should suggest the baths." I say, watching him out of the corner of my eye as he frowns, pulling at the front of his maroon coloured tunic and sniffing.

"You may not be wrong there, sister," He admits with a grimace and my laugh echoes off the walls. "Here, we'll ask this fellow!"

"Excuse me," I say, raising my hand to the dwarf man at the end of the corridor. He is wearing the same grey tunic as the steward from last night, and he looks up as I call, bowing at our approach. "I was wondering if you could help us."

"Yes my lady, how may I be of service?" He questions curiously.

"My brother is in need of a bath," I say, smiling widely as Brúin grunts in annoyance. "Could you point us in the right direction?"

"Certainly my lady," The dwarf says, a smile tugging at his lips. "Please, follow me."

"I'm not the only one who could do with a bath you know," Brúin complains as we follow the manservant out of the corridor and into another. "You're just as bad."

"And I fully intend to have a bath too, thank you very much!" I tell him. In truth I could kill a man for a nice hot bath right now – I feel gritty and dirty from travel, my short wash before meeting the king yesterday doing very little to make me feel clean. "After which I suggest we go clothes shopping."

"Agreed," Brúin nods. "Where might we find a clothes vendor here?"

"There is a market place on the lower levels, my lord. You will find clothing there, and several seamstresses," The steward answers as he turns another corner. "And there is the village of New Dale, at the base of the mountain."

We passed through Dale on the way here, but mother didn't allow us to stop for fear of missing our chance to introduce ourselves to the King. I'd quite like to go there at some point, but perhaps not today – Erebor is my first port of call.

We come out into the open chamber with the multiple walkways, and I do my best to keep my eyes on the route and not on the brilliant surroundings. I don't like relying on Brúin's sense of direction to get us back. Somehow, despite the fact that all dwarves have an acute sense of direction, whether above ground or under it, he is forever getting lost.

The guide takes us across to the other side of the mountain, crossing onto a second walkway then into a covered corridor. After a few more twists and turns we come to a stop outside a large set of doors which stand open – our steward motions us in.

Brúin goes first and I follow curiously.

The room is long, but unlike most of the other places in the mountain it has a low ceiling. On the back wall a huge fire is burning, being fed by two burly looking dwarves who are sweating in the heat. I watch for a moment as one pauses to wipe a hand over his forehead before resuming his work, then I tear my eyes away to look around some more. On either side of the room there are carved archways that lead into smaller chambers, some of which are swirling with steam - I assume this is where the baths are situated.

Our guide leaves us as another dwarf approaches from the side of the room. This one is wearing a rich green tunic, like the other workers in the baths, with his hair pulled back from his face and his beard neatly braided. He gives us a bow and Brúin and I return it.

"My lord, my lady," He greets us. "You wish to bathe?"

"Yes, please." I say quickly, eager to be clean. Brúin mealy nods from beside me.

"Please, follow me." He says, and my brother and I do as he asks, falling into step behind the man. We enter under one of the archways on the right and I see more wooden partitions like the ones from the preparation room we were in yesterday. Most of the dividers are pulled back to reveal wooden bathtubs, but one is covered and in use.

There are four cubicles in our room, with three baths left open – our bath worker stops beside two of them.

"A moment, please." He says, and strides over to the wall where several pipes are running. I watch in fascination as the dwarf pulls two of the pipes away from the wall, on some sort of hinge, and positions them carefully over the first bath tub before doing the same to the second. Once the pipes are in place he returns to the wall and starts to turn two cranks.

I can hear the water thundering down the pipes and a moment later it shoots out of the ends, splashing into the baths and throwing up clouds of steam as the hot and cold water mixes.

I am impressed despite myself.

Norinbad has plumbing too, of course, but it also has a lot of underground springs, which are relied on for bathing. This is much more interesting.

As we wait for the water to fill up our dwarf helper pulls the wooden dividers around the baths – which I see now slide on grooves along the floor – effectively closing the two of them in their own little rooms.

"My lord, my lady?" The bath worker motions us to one of three large chests that I hadn't noticed at first. They are pushed up against the wall opposite the baths, and like the dividers are coated in a waxy substance, probably to protect the wood from rotting in the damp. "Here you will find towels, and supplies for your bath."

I blink. I hadn't even thought about that.

The dwarf disappears again and I can hear him turning the handle to shut the water off, though from the sounds of it it doesn't happen instantly. I quickly gather myself a fluffy towel from one of the chests, and a block of soap, then wait for the bath assistant to re-emerge.

"Your baths are ready," He tells us a second later, bowing. "If you need further help, do not hesitate to call."

"Thank you." Brúin and I say in unison. I head into my room and pull the panel across completely while Brúin disappears into his own.

The bath water is steaming and I waste no time in stripping off my clothes, dumping them in a pile in the corner, along with my towel, and climbing in.

"Ahhh." I sigh in contentment as the water burns my skin. It's the most amazing feeling after only being able to wash in cold streams or luke-warm tavern basins for the last four weeks. Perfect. I sink lower into the water and debate submerging myself completely.

"It's nice here," Brúin's voice calls to me from the other side of our partition, a minute or so later. "It's not like the springs, but still not bad!"

I sigh again, and this time in annoyance.

What you are witnessing here is my brothers inability to remain still. Brúin is energy personified and can't go more than a few minutes without having to move around – even in sleep he fidgets. This constant need to move is one of the main differences between Brúin and myself – he is not happy unless he is doing something, whether it be fighting, walking or just talking to someone – while I am at my most satisfied sitting somewhere quiet, alone, with a good book.

"What do you think this soap is made of?" Brúin questions when I don't reply to his previous comment.

"I don't know, Brúin," I say, picking up the block of soap I had left on the edge of the tub and sniffing it. It smells like some kind of plant, though I couldn't name it. "Fat and flowers I suppose."

"Well whatever it is, I like it." He tells me. I sigh again and dunk my head under the water, partially to clean my hair but mainly to get away from the sound of his voice, if only for a second. When I resurface a few moments later he is singing enthusiastically to himself, some brazen song - which he probably learnt in a taproom – about the antics of a flirtatious young dwarf lass.

I shake my head, grinning despite myself, and get to work on scrubbing the top layer of skin from my body. Brúin is not one for relaxing, so I will have to come back on my own if I want to have a nice quiet soak, some other time. For now, I clean myself quickly and quietly – since my brother is making enough noise for the two of us – and drag myself out of the tub to dry off.

"Are you almost ready to go?" I hear him call a few minutes later. We have been in the baths for a total of thirteen minutes so far, which is obviously too long for him.

"Yes Brúin, I'm just getting changed," I tell him, and even to my own ears I sound like I am talking to an impatient child. "Five minutes."

"Fine, fine." He grumbles on the other side of the wall. I suspect he has been dried and dressed for five minutes already.

I dry my hair as best I can - though it will remain damp for hours unless I find a fire to sit by - and weave all of it into a thick plait that falls heavily down my back. Then I tug my clothes back on, though they feel sticky against my not quite dry skin, and I quietly curse Brúin and his impatience.

Once I am sure that I am presentable and have not left anything in the bathroom that I may need, I leave - my damp towel folded under my arm.

Brúin is waiting for me outside, along with the bath attendant, both of whom look up as I approach.

"What do I do with my towel?" I ask, and it is Brúin who motions to a large wooden bin which, as I walk over to it, I see already contains two used towels. I drop mine in and turn back to my brother. "Do we need to do anything with the baths?"

"My good friend Galim says no," Brúin grins, clapping a hand on the bath assistant's shoulder. "Apparently our work here is done."

I would not be surprised if Brúin and Galim were good friends. My brother has an annoying habit of making friends with just about everyone he meets in minutes. Trúin may be considered the socialite of our family but in truth it is Brúin who can strike up a conversation with anyone – he can find common ground with the most unlikely people and has such a friendly and casual manner that it is hard not to like him.

"Are you sure?" I question. I feel bad just turning up, making him do all the work and then leaving without even trying to help.

"Quite sure my lady," Galim says, giving me a bow as Brúin steps to my side. "Though your offer is appreciated."

"I see, well, in that case we'll take our leave," I say, still feeling awkward. "Thank you again, Galim."

Brúin and I exit the baths, pause outside for a few moments so that we can decide on which direction to head in, before making our way back to the open chamber. It is still as breathtaking as it was yesterday, and I have a feeling it will still awe me tomorrow and many days after that.

"That steward said there is a market on the lower levels," Brúin remembers, tapping his bearded chin as we walk. "I think we should start there."

"Well brother, you think so rarely I suppose I should encourage it." I say to him, glancing over the closest railing to see which walkway will lead is in the right direction.

"How kind of you." Brúin grumbles behind me.

"Come now brother," I say, pointing over the railing and ignoring his pout. "I think that will lead us down, all we have to do is get there."

Eventually, after much doubling back on ourselves we manage to find a staircase that lead down to the lower levels of the mountains. During which Brúin started to grow annoyed with me after the third or forth time he walked off and turned around to find that I wasn't with him.

"Shopping with you is almost as bad as shopping with mother!" He complains as he takes hold of my elbow and steers me away from a sapphire embellished statue of an ancient dwarven warrior that I had been admiring.

"We haven't even started shopping yet!" I counter, jerking my arm away from him to walk under my own power. He grunts.

"Exactly my point," Brúin grumbles. "At least with mother we would already be in the market – not stopping every fives steps to view some crumbling rocks."

"They aren't crumbling rocks, Brúin, they're part of our history," I tell him, slightly annoyed. "But fine, I will come back on a day when your uncultured mind is busy doing other things. Let us find the market."

"It's down here! I was almost half way thought before I had to come back to find you." Brúin tells me, leading the way down the last of the steps. I can hear it as we approach, the sound of voices, all clamouring to be heard over one another.

"You shouldn't have." I chuckle as Brúin steps out of the archway at the bottom of the stairs. I follow him and stop, my eyes widening. The market isn't at all how I'd imagined it.

What I had been expecting was something similar to Norinbad's markets – plain, orderly and organised. The stalls and stands in neat rows, and the vendors doing quiet business with interested patrons. That was not at all the case.

As I step in I look up. I can see the stone walkways and platforms a way above us and I would guess we are just below the ground level of the mountain. The central chamber of the mountain looks no less amazing from down here though it is not quite enough to distract me from what is happening on this floor. I turn my attention back to the crowded market.

The thing that I like most about this place, is that it's so colourful. Erebor itself is colourful but regally so, all polished emerald and smoky quartz - the bazaar however is more than that – it is loud, cramped and hot but just as wonderful. It is bustling, alive and breathing in a way that the upper levels of Erebor lack.

Up and down the great hall that houses the market are stalls and stands, with dwarven merchants all trying to convince the buyers that they have the best product. The stores are all brightly accented, designed to draw the eye: A woman dwarf selling bolts of cloth has draped her stall in flowing fabrics of fuchsia and cerulean, and beside her a jeweller displays stunning gems – rubies, diamonds and links of gold that all shine, refracting colours across the floor in front of his stand. Opposite a food trader entices passersby with exotic spices in tubs and jars of all different shapes and sizes.

"Wow." Brúin exclaims, summing up my feelings quite accurately.

"As you say," I breathe. "Shall we explore?"

"I think it would irresponsible not to," Brúin agrees with a grin, though he stops me before I take two steps. "So I don't forget, mother said you must purchase a new dress."

"I am not wasting my money on a dress," I say flatly, Brúin holds up his hands defensively as if he expects me to take my anger out on him. "If she wants me to wear one - fine, but it can come from her own pocket."

"Funny you should say that, actually," My brother says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small sack of gold. "She thought you might disagree, and told me to give you this."

"And would you actually have given it to me, had I not disagreed?" I question, taking the pouch from his hand with a raised eyebrow. Brúin chuckles and gives me a cheeky grin which answers my question more truthfully than anything he can say next.

"Of course dear sister!" He assures me, then clears his throat. "But come now, let's go and have a look around, shall we?"

"Yes, lets," I huff, dropping my mothers funds into my hip pouch along with my own. "Perhaps spending some money will help me forget my thieving older brother."

"A little harsh, perhaps, but I'll allow it." Brúin smirks, then strides off into the crowd, leaving me to hurry after him or get lost in the press of bodies.

"You lookin' for anything in particular, my lass?" A voice asks. I glance up from the plum coloured dress I had been looking at to find one of the oldest dwarf women I have ever seen in my life, staring back at me.

Her hair is white as freshly fallen snow and hangs loose around a face deeply lined with wrinkles, but for one thick looping braid that rests across her chest. I blink, she blinks back with peculiar orange coloured eyes and when she smiles at me I see she is missing most of her front teeth.

"I – uh – I was just looking at your dresses," I say lamely. "They are very lovely."

"O'course they are!" She says, letting out a cackle as she rubs her hands together. "Old Lavri's the best dress maker you'll ever meet! Been doin' it long enough."

"Yes, I – well, I was interested in this one-" I say, motioning to the purple one. It's not the colour I would usually go for, but it is the only one here that looks as if it will fit me.

"Ah, that's a good'un, that one," Lavri says, nodding sagely. "But not for you I think!"

"But – excuse me?" I question, confused. This is not how shopping is supposed to go in my experience. It is quite clear that none of the other dresses will fit me, they are made for daintier dwarf ladies than myself, I think.

"I said that one's not fer you!" She tells me, tutting as if my hearing is bad. A second later she disappears, only to reappear from around the side of her stand. I blink again, she must have been standing on a stool or something because she is absolutely _tiny! _Even for a dwarf! Why she barely comes up to my chest!

"I don't understand." I finally say. I glance around for support from Brúin, but he nowhere to be seen, probably off looking at swords or something equally as unhelpful.

"I can see that my girl! Look here!" Lavri says, pulling the purple dress I had picked from the stand. "This dress is much to small around the hips and bust for you, why you'd burst at the seams!"

I am somewhat offended by this, but I keep my mouth shut and settle for scratching the back of my head awkwardly. Normally I would just have walked away by now, but this woman is fascinating – if not a little strange – and I'm curious to know exactly how old she is.

"Don't look at me like that lass, I'm only tellin' you the truth – now what's your name, girl?" Lavri questions, replacing the purple dress with a shake of her head.

"Rúin, daughter of Yutte." I tell her, blinking.

"Well Rúin, come with me, my dear, I'll have you measured right quick! Levo, mind the stall!" She orders.

Lavri then grabs me by the hand and tugs me after her, while I glance around for this Levo character – I am half expecting to see a wizened old dwarf man like Lavri herself. Unfortunately this is not the case and I am disappointed to see that Levo is in face a scruffy looking dog.

I allow the little woman to drag me to the curtained off area behind her cart, which seems to serve as a small workshop. She motions me towards the centre of the makeshift room where I stand uncertainly, waiting for her to collect a measuring tape and what looks to be a step ladder.

"Um, I'm not really sure-" I start, but the older woman cuts me off.

"O'course you're not my girl! Don't know the first thing about dresses I reckon," Lavri chuckles as she begins wrapping her tape measure around various parts of my body, pausing occasionally to scribble things on a piece of parchment. "Don't you worry lass, Lavri will sort you out, no trouble at all."

"Yes, thank you, Lavri but I-" I try again, but once again am not permitted to finish.

"What's your story my girl?" She questions, climbing up onto the first step of her ladder to lasso me around the waist with the tape measure. "You're a noble, I'll wager, carry yourself like a lady in any case, even if you don't dress like one."

"Sort of – I mean – yes." She is making me all flustered with her poking and prodding and strange way of conversation. Though mother will be pleased to know that all those hours she spent breaking me out of my hurried stride and teaching me how to walk like a graceful lady were not entirely wasted.

"Sort of a Lady, eh? You'll be here for the King's proposal then?" Lavri questions, I snort back a laugh.

"No, no, not me, my sister," I say, shaking my head. Lavri pauses her measurements to regard me with a raised eyebrow. "I've no interest in marrying a King, nor courting or dresses for that matter!"

"I see the way of it. So what're you looking for lass?" She asks, I frown. "In a dress, that is."

"Oh, well... I suppose I would like to be able to move in it," I say, which does not seem like such a large request, if you ask me. "All the dresses I own are somewhat restrictive."

"Aye, old Lavri can sort that out for you, don't you fret!" She chuckles, climbing up higher till she is able to wrap her tape measure around my head – for what reason I'm sure I don't know. "You'll feel like you're wearing nothin' but your skin in one o'my dresses."

"Oh, good?" I say, unsure if it is or not.

"And I've got a good colour for you too lass," The older woman said, climbing down from her perch and documenting the last few measurements on her parchment. "You come back in a few days, I'll have your dress all ready."

"That soon?" I question. I know very little about dress making, but I would have thought it would take longer than a few days.

"Oh aye, not much work for me these days my girl," Lavri sighs, and for a moment the woman sounds sad. "Too much competition with the younger generation, all these new styles and fashions to keep up with and only myself to work? No, not much work these days."

"Well you'll have my custom, as often as I am in need of a dress." I assure her. I'm not sure why but I feel bad for the elderly dwarf – I may not like dresses overly, but even I can appreciate the beauty of some of them.

"That's kind of you, Rúin, very kind," She says, smiling. "Now be off with you, I've a dress to be makin'!"

"Thank you very much, Lavri," I say, standing and exiting her workshop. "I'll be back in a few days, then."

I wander the market for a while, browsing the stalls but keeping an eye out for my wayward brother who seems to have been swallowed whole by the mountain. Or so I think, that is until I spot him coming towards me, a grin on his face and a new axe on his hip.

"Rúin, there you are!" He says, coming to a stop in front of me. "I was about to return to mother and father and tell them you had been abducted or something equally as terrible."

"Well no need to get their hopes up for nothing, brother," I tell him, patting his shoulder. "I was having myself fitted for a dress, if you must know."

"Mother will be thrilled," Brúin laughs, and I exhale loudly. "I have something that will cheer you up."

"If it is not a muzzle for you I will be disappointed." I tell him, my brother rolls his eyes and shakes his head with a smirk before dragging me off into the crowd again.

"I am going to assume that the only reason you are being so hostile is because you are hungry," Brúin says as we walk. He cranes his head this way and that, looking for something, which he evidently spots because we make a b-line for a stand on the left. "Which is why you must try one of these!"

The vendor is selling pies. I am not surprised that Brúin has found this stall, his third favourite hobby is eating – after fighting and drinking, of course. I inhale deeply, mouth watering because they smell divine.

"If you could at least _try_ to stop being mean to me I will buy you one." Brúin offers. Bribery with food is always a good way to get what you want with dwarfs – food or gold – and I am no exception.

"Done!" I tell him, licking my lips at the thought.

Brúin purchases three pies, one for me and two for himself and we eat them while we continue to traverse the market.

"Have you actually bought anything yet?" Brúin questions around a mouthful of meat pie, half of which has ended up in his beard.

"No, not yet," I tell him. "I pay for the dress when I get it, and of course you bought me the pie."

"And I must say you are doing much better than I thought you would be," He says, I quirk an eyebrow. "At not trying to cut me to ribbons with that sharp tongue of yours!"

"It's only been five minutes, Brúin, give it time," I smirk, then spot a stand that will hold no interest for my brother, but could keep me occupied for hours. "Oh look, over there!"

"Ugh, Rúin, more books?" He questions with a groan as I weave through the milling dwarves to reach the book trader. "You bought enough with you from Norinbad, you don't need any more!"

"You can never have too many books, my Lord." The dwarf man behind the stand tells Brúin, giving me a wink.

"See Brúin, listen to the man, he knows what he's talking about!" I say, already bent over the first row of tomes, examining each one. There are books of all shapes and sizes, some bound in leather, others with thin wooden covers, a mixture of new and second hand. They all have that wonderful bookish smell that I inhale as I browse.

Brúin is shuffling behind me, eager to leave and find something less stationary to do but I ignore him and keep up my inspection of the books.

"You have some Elvish works here," I muse, pulling a small book from the collection, silver embossed writing down it's spine. "And some human too."

"Aye, though not so many of the former," The book dealer tells me. "Elves still not to popular, see? Not many that can read their swirls neither, though I 'spect you can, fine Lady like yourself."

"No, I can't," I tell him with a smile, replacing the book. "Do you trade with the Elves often then?"

"I trade with everyone I can, Miss! Whenever I can!" He says, tucking his thumbs through his belt loops. "Only came to Erebor recently mind."

"Of course," I say, running a hand over one of the larger books. Brúin grumbles quietly behind me and starts to pace, I know I am going to have to finish up here soon or risk losing him in the market again. I pull up the large book, flicking through the pages long enough to recognise it as a collection of old dwarvish fables. "How much for this one?"

"Two gold coins my Lady." He tells me. I nod and reach for my money, only to pause a moment later when I catch sight of a crumbling leather bound book tucked at the back. I undo the tie around it's middle and open it carefully, hoping the pages won't turn to dust in my hands.

It's written in Khuzdul, which, while not uncommon in a dwarven strongholds is not something often seen in with book traders. Khuzdul is the dwarven language, and is therefore a secret to all but our own kind – a secret we guard closely. To find such an old copy, one that has probably been carted around with this vendor to other cities – cities of men and elves – is mind boggling.

"And this, how much is this?" I question, holding out the book for him to see.

"I'll let you take it for twenty silver pieces, my lady, can't seem to shift is anywhere else." He tells me with a smile. It is probably just as well! Who knows that manner of person could have bought it, then tried to translate it.

"I'll take them both," I say, handing over the two and twenty. The vendor offers to wrap them for me, and I accept because I am half worried that the older of the two books will fall apart while I walk. He hands the bundle back to me and I bid him farewell, much to Brúin's relief.

We spend the remainder of the day exploring the rest of the market, making purchases and taking note of interesting stalls for future visits. When we eventually return to our rooms I have added to my book purchases with a new white shirt, a pair of breeches and a long forest green skirt which I hope will keep mother happy until my dress is ready.

Brúin and I part ways in the corridor, he going to his room and I returning to mine where I pack away my new things and then go in search of a quiet place to read.

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**Hope you guys liked it, next chapter will have a familiar face in it! As always I am grateful for any favourites/follows/reviews to my story and would love to keep getting them from you wonderful people :D Let me know what you think! Stay tuned! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello all, I come to you with a new chapter! First of all, as always much love to all my reviewers - I really appreciate you taking the time to comment on my story and tell me your feelings! There were a few questions to answer I think, so I'll just do that quickly - **

**ThaliaHuntressGrace: I don't have a picture drawn up of the family at the moment, but I would like to do one when things aren't so busy! So when I draw one up I'll be sure to let you guys know!**

**Ri-chan: While I would love to have Bilbo in the story there isn't much place for him at the moment - that isn't to say he won't make an appearance at all, just not for a while!**

**Shayran16: The person in the bath was just a random dwarf, no one overly interesting! And Rúin does meet Ori in the library, just not in this chapter XD Good call though! **

**I love questions about my characters and story so if anyone has anything they want to know that I haven't covered please feel free to ask though bare in mind we're only four chapters in - I'll answer as long as it doesn't give away any spoilers! Many thanks to followers and favourites too! Please enjoy!**

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Chapter 4

"Rúin, are you coming or not?" Brúin asks me, sounding impatient. I snap my book shut and glare towards the door that leads to the family room, which is where my brother is hounding me from.

"Yes, Brúin! Mahal preserve me, two minutes!" I grumble, pushing up off my bed and leaving the tattered book on the sheets. I tug on my boots which I have left beside my door, grab up my bow and quiver which are leaning against the vanity table and turn to the door – only to pause and turn back to my desk. Inside the top draw is the pouch of gold my mother gave me to purchase my dress with, which I intend to do today.

It has been four days since Lavri dragged me into her fitting room with the promise of the best dress I've ever worn. I meant to go yesterday to see her, but during my exploration of Erebor I found out that there is a library – and I spent my entire day in there - so long in fact that I missed lunch and would have missed dinner had Brúin not come to find me with another pie.

"Ah, there you are lass!" My father says as I step out of my room. Brúin has joined him in the corridor and leaps forwards when I appear, eager to be going. "Are you ready?"

"Yes father, though I need to stop by the market first," I tell him, Brúin's shoulders sag and he groans. "But as I would hate to deprive my dear brother of any more time spent out of training, I will go ahead and meet you there."

"Are you sure?" My father asks, I nod. "You know the way?"

"Brúin and I passed the training area at one point during our travels, I will find it again." I assure him. Father nods and together the three of us head off towards the open chamber at Erebor's centre, from there I continue on alone to the Market while they carry on to the training arena.

I do my best not to get too distracted on my way to the bazaar, nor when I am there, because the colours and noises are still so overpowering that I want to stop and stare, listen and smell everything.

I weave my way between the shoppers, just as many as there had been on my first trip down here and work on locating Lavri's stall. It doesn't take me long, as I have said before dwarves are very good at directions, and it is almost impossible for us to forget the way once we have visited a place once.

Her stall is there, the same as it had been the first time I found it with all it's pre-made dresses set out on racks at the front and the slapdash workshop behind it. The elderly dwarf lady is nowhere to be seen but her mangy looking dog – Levo- is sprawled to the side of the stall, watching me.

"Lavri?" I call, loud enough to be heard over the dim of the market but not loud enough to seem rude. I call again. She doesn't appear, so I make my way around her stand to the workshop and tap lightly on the nearest wooden panel. "Lavri?"

For a few moments I think she is not here, perhaps she has gone for something to eat, or visiting another market vendor. Either way I will need to return again another day when the seamstress is around.

I turn to go, but only make it a few steps.

"Rúin, my dear girl!" Lavri says, appearing in the entrance to her workshop, a wide, toothless grin on her face. "I was expectin' you days ago!"

"You said a few days! It has only been four!" I say with a frown. Even though Lavri said she would be able to finish the dress in but a few days I hadn't actually believed her - but then dress making was always more Trúin's area of expertise.

"Two too many!" Lavri states, turning around and disappearing back into her workshop, beckoning me in after her. I step in and stare - because before me, hung from the back of a wooden slat, is one of the loveliest dresses I have ever seen.

The dress itself is a dark blue, the colour of a stormy sea. The bust and sleeves are white lace, and it looks sort of like a corset attached to a long skirt, though it is all one piece of fabric. It has an elegant feel to it, despite the simplicity of the outfit.

"You like it then?" Lavri asks, since I haven't moved from the doorway. I nod. "Well don't just stand there lass, come try it on!"

I move forwards, depositing my bow and arrows on the ground beside her desk. The little old dwarf woman pulls the wooden slats forwards and folds them out to give me some privacy as I slip off my shirt and breeches. I leave them in a pile on the floor in favour of shimmying my way into the gown.

The dress feels smooth against my skin, like water, though I can't guess at what material it's made of. I don't think I have ever been so cautious with a piece of clothing as I am with this dress. I pull it up, careful not to accidentally rip it or tread on it and then stand there, unsure what to do next.

"How is it?" Lavri's voice asks from the other side of the panel. I blink. It feels wonderful. I twist at the waist and there is no tightness around my back, I bend forwards and can even touch my toes without my lungs feeling constricted, like they are about to burst. The real test is in the arms however, and I am actually feeling a little giddy at the thought of owning a dress that gives me full range of movement – I lift up my arms, over my head and it is like I am wearing a regular shirt.

"It's amazing!" I say, and I mean it.

"Well come out, let me get'a look at you!" Lavri demands and I stride around the separator marvelling at my new ability to move. The old dwarf woman clasps her hands together in front of herself and beams. "Why look at you!"

"It fits me like a glove Lavri!" I say, still awed. I twirl, the dress spins out around me and I smile to myself once I come to a stop. Then I pause, my eyes landing on my bow and quiver. "Do you think I could shoot wearing it?"

"I'd say so my dear," Lavri taps her whiskery chin, then walks over and picks up my bow, handing it to me. "Give it a try, see how it feels."

I turn slightly so I am facing side on and lift the bow, my fingers curling around the string as I pull it taut. A smile spreads over my face and I try again, and again, releasing the bow string and then pulling it back, as far as it can go – and I can do it! My movement isn't restricted at all.

"This is truly a wonder, Lavri!" I tell her, looking down at the dress. "I think I shall become your favourite customer!"

"Well I'll be happy to make more for you my dear!" Lavri tells me, patting my arm as she turns to her desk. "Warms my heart to know people like my work, it does!"

"Like it! I love it, and I do not say that about dresses often!" I exclaim, still grinning. "Mother will be thrilled! Now, how much do I owe you?"

"Let me just see my lovely," Lavri says, pulling a small reading glass from the folds of her own dress. I hear her muttering to herself, totalling up the costs before she turns back to me. "I make it twelve gold pieces, my dear."

I frown. That does not seem like nearly enough – my mother has bought dresses of lower quality than this for thirty gold coins and not batted an eyelid, and this is far superior to anything else I have ever owned for it's ability to move alone. Lavri mistakes my silence for offence, because when she next speaks it is in a worried tone.

"It is only more expensive because I had to come up with a new pattern for you, my dear," She says quickly, twisting her fingers together. "When you said you wanted something-"

"Lavri- Lavri!" I say quickly, before she can panic any further - briefly I wonder at how much she charges regularly, if she deems this expensive . "The price is not a problem – well it is – but not because it is too expensive! Durin's beard woman! I know people who would pay double the amount for a dress like this!"

"Well I – But I've always charged this way," Lavri tells me, sounding somewhat confused. "Just enough to cover the materials I use and a bit for my time and effort!"

"Well if you ask me your time and effort is worth much more," I tell her, sighing. "I will not pay less than thirty gold coins – and I will gladly pay more if you let me!"

"Thirty gold pieces! No my girl I won't hear of it!" Lavri tells me, waggling a finger in my face, which is quite hard for her to do since she is a lot shorter than myself. "You're a nice lass, I won't overcharge you!"

"You aren't overcharging me!" I respond, returning to where I have left my clothes to find my money pouch. I march over to her desk and upend it on the table, spilling gold coins all over the table top.

"This is the money my mother gave me to purchase a dress," I say, motioning to the pile, before counting out the twelve gold coins she had originally asked for. "This is the amount you think this dress is worth – look how much I have left over! If I were to find another dress of this quality it would cost me double what you are asking for."

"By Mahal, is that really what they are charging for dresses?" Lavri asks, her eyes wide. "Why in my day we earned what we worked and asked for no more than we needed to keep ourselves fed and watered! No- no, I still cannot ask you for more, you're a nice lass, it wouldn't be right!"

"Please Lavri, I understand what you're trying to say, but I feel like I am stealing from you!" I tell her – and I'm not lying. I would much rather give this little old lady another pouch of gold coins then spend thirty on a dress not nearly as well made. "I've never owned a dress I like until now, and I would very much like to get another from you but at a price that reflects the product."

Lavri umm's and ahhh's for a few moments, and I put on my stubborn face, the one I learnt from mother when no one else was watching. Eventually the older woman concedes and I feel relieved that I'm not effectively robbing her.

"Alright my girl, have it your way – But thirty is still too much, let us say twenty?" She tells me, exhaling loudly, though she is smiling. "Thank you."

"I should be thanking you, Lavri, this dress is lovely!" I tell her, adding another eight coins to her twelve to make the twenty, then I scoop the others back into the sack and bundle it up in my breeches and shirt. I still feel like I should be paying more.

"Well it was a pleasure makin' it for you!" She tells me as I gather up all my things, slinging my quiver and bow over my shoulder. "I hope I'll see you again."

"I don't think you need to worry about that, I'll definitely be back." I tell her, smiling widely. Lavri beams at me, exposing her gums as I make my exit, still astonished with the way my new dress moves.

After I return my clothes to my room I hastily make my way to the training rooms, not wanting to draw my fathers ire by being too late. I am still wearing my dress because I want to actually practice shooting with it – not to mention father won't make me spar with Brúin if I am wearing it, and I have no desire to be beaten black and blue today.

Brúin and I have always trained in each others presence, if not always against each other. He is much better than me with all weapons, though I can hold my own for a while with a sword or axe – but in a hand to hand fight we are on more even footing. I am by no means physically weak, but my brother has my fathers build and ridiculous strength, which makes him very dangerous when he is on the attack – but I am faster than him, and his strength means little if he cannot hit me.

I walk into the training area several minutes later after locating the right walkway and following it to the large room. I have only been in her once before, and it was only for a short moment while Brúin and I explored.

Like a lot of Erebor's rooms that are used communally the ceiling is high, with strategically cut shafts in the ceiling, which lets in daylight, and fires around it's edges for cloudy days or night time. There are four sparring rings, which sound impressive but are really just large, raised stone platforms – about twenty feet in diameter – where partners can practice weapons fighting or hand to hand combat.

There are also other sections for training alone, and several stone cases which hold training weapons. Wooden swords, blunted axes, targets and practice dummies included.

Three of the four walls have several deep steps carved along their length, which my father told me are for spectators to watch matched fighting events. Though he also tells me that these matches are not held often, mainly for holidays or festivals - and there is another larger hall for the biggest of them. The entrance to the training area is set into one of the stair cases, causing a tunnel-like effect as you walk in.

On top of having a very high ceiling the training room is also very long. This is because at the far end is an archery range, which is separated from the main sparing area by more of the wooden partitions which are frequent within the lonely mountain. I assume this divide is to protect those in the fighting rings from any stray arrows which may come their way.

"Rúin!" My father calls, and I look up from my examination of the training area to see him watching me from the far sparring ring where Brúin is pummelling some poor soul. I raise a hand to show I have heard him and quickly make my way over to where my brother is fighting, weaving between small groups of soldiers and individuals training alone. "I almost didn't recognise you lass!"

"Do you like it?" I ask , turning slightly to give him a better view of the dress. My father nods and is momentarily distracted when Brúin lets out a curse and comes skidding across the ring to land at my feet.

"Rúin?" Brúin questions from the ground, wincing and pushing himself up as he wipes blood from his lip. "Durin's mighty arse-cheek are you wearing a dress, voluntarily?"

"Yes, I am," I tell him with a frown. Is it really that surprising? Yes, I suppose it is. "Behind you."

Brúin spins round just in time to catch the punch that would have knocked him flat on his face. He grunts and the both he and his sparring partner scrabble away, both jabbing and grabbing as they try to find purchase on the other. I watch for a few moments. The dwarf my brother is scrapping with is smaller than Brúin, with auburn coloured hair that is sticking to the sweat that covers him - but despite his smaller stature he seems to be doing a fairly good job of fending my brother off.

"Why _are_ you wearing the dress, Rúin?" My father asks, drawing my attention away, his bushy eyebrows pulled down into a frown. I shrug and smooth down the fabric with one hand.

"The seamstress who did it for me made some adjustments, and I wanted to see if I could shoot in it," I tell him truthfully. "Besides, I quite like it."

"Finally something that pleases both you and your mother!" My father says, with a loud laugh that draws the attention of several eyes. "Well go on then! Get shooting! Your brother will be a while anyway."

"Remind him to watch his left side." I tell my father, hitching my quiver on my shoulder and heading off towards the back of the room.

"Did you hear that boy?" My father booms. "Even your baby sister can see the gaps in your defence! Keep your guard up!"

I chuckle to myself as I walk away – nothing annoys Brúin more than my father poking holes in his fighting, even if he does leave himself open on the left.

I walk the length of the hall and cautiously step through the gap in the partition that acts as a door, not wanting to be accidentally impaled by a wayward arrow, but there is little chance of that happening, since I am the only one here.

I let out a hmm and stride forwards, picking one of the further targets to use.

The archery range is set up simply, and I assume this is because very few dwarves in Erebor actually practice with a bow and arrow – like my brother they prefer the more hands on approach. There are several large targets against the far wall, at various heights and some smaller ones that hang from a beam across the room – these ones look as if they can be adjusted by one of the levers on the wall, for a harder shot.

My hair is down, so I take a minute to braid it into one long plait that rests on my spine. It's not something I _need _to do, I can shoot without having my hair up – but there have been a few occasions in my younger years where I loosed my arrow and it took several pieces of my hair along with it. Not something I like repeating, if possible.

With that done, I quickly slip on my arm guard – a simple leather bracer my father got for me a few years ago – and take an arrow from my quiver, fitting it to my bow with a practised hand. I lift the bow and draw back the string in one fluid motion before letting the arrow fly.

It glides silently through the air before thudding into the centre of my intended target. I smile to myself and fit another arrow.

I have been shooting for almost ten minutes when I hear the door open. I don't turn to see who it is, assuming it will be my father or brother – neither of which will be impressed if I get distracted mid-shot – and instead sight up on my next target, which is shortly after impaled by my arrow.

"Nice shot," A voice says, and now I do turn because it is not deep enough to belong to the people I had been expecting. "You really are good!"

"Uh- My prince!" I say, giving a hurried curtsey when my brain starts to process that it is indeed prince Kili talking to me. He pulls a face.

"Please, don't call me that!" He huffs moodily, but brightens quickly. "Just Kili is fine! I remember you - You're Lady Rúin, aren't you? The twin, with the pretty fair haired sister?"

"I am, my prin- Kili," I amend with a smile as he pouts at me. I am glad that he remembers me for my brother and sister, not my inattentive mistakes during our first meeting. "I can leave, if you'd like to practice?"

"What? Oh, no, it's fine!" He tells me quickly, walking over to stand on my left, his eyes taking in the targets I have been making pin cushions out of. "I've actually been hoping to find you here."

"You have?" I ask and he nods, then I remember his request to practice with me earlier in the week. "Well it looks like you are in luck, because here I am!"

"Do you mind? Practising with me that is?" He questions, I raise an eyebrow. "I don't know many other dwarfs who can shoot – well, none, actually – except uncle, but he is much too busy. It's quite exciting to meet a real archer!"

"There are no other archers in Erebor?" I question with a frown, moving forwards to collect up some of my arrows. I have shot a lot more than I thought, there are at least fifteen sticking out of various targets all over the range - my quiver only holds twenty five!

"None that I know of," He says, and I glance over my shoulder just in time to see him scuff his boot against the floor. "It has never been very popular among my people."

"I find that strange - there are many archers in Norinbad," I tell him as I yank out a particularly stubborn arrow, checking the tip for damage once it is free before replacing it in my quiver. "But I suppose you had less need for them in Ered Luin."

"Less need?" Kili questions as I return.

"Have you ever been to Norinbad, Kili?" I ask him, he shakes his head, dark hair falling around his face. "Well it is found deep within Ered Mithrin, the Grey Mountains, north of here – and west of Norinbad is Mount Gundabad."

"Gundabad?" Kili's eyebrows draw down and he frowns, because even he knows about that place.

"Yes, so Norinbad is subject to many orc attacks, more so than most other dwarven kingdoms," I explain. "The archers are lookouts and the first line of defence, because they can attack over long distance, reducing the enemy numbers before they even reach the gates."

"I see," He says, still frowning. "So it is a well regarded weapon in Norinbad?"

"Certainly." I tell him, he nods to himself and takes out his own bow.

"Would you like to have a competition?" He asks eagerly, his eyes shining. I smile despite myself, his bubbly personality is hard to resist.

"What did you have in mind?" I ask as he bounds away to the far wall. I watch in interest as he pulls a lever set into the stone, causing several small hoops to drop down against the wall.

I blink. When I say the rings are small I mean they are the size of walnuts, little enough to fit maybe two or three fingers through -or an arrow- made of metal and painted red for visibility. They are swinging, some kind of unseen mechanism keeping them in constant movement - I am curious, but it isn't likely to be something I understand even if I do search out it's source.

Kili comes back, a grin on his face.

"If you take the ten on the left, and I take the ten on the right we'll see who can get the most!" He tells me, still beaming. I nod slightly, it is a simple enough task in theory, but for the fact that the rings are swaying, making them slightly harder to pin.

"Okay," I agree, fitting an arrow. "Ready when you are."

The young dwarf grins at me again and raises his own bow. He counts down from three and the two of us loose, reaching for a second arrow before the first has even found it's mark. The next few minutes is a flurry of fit, draw, release until all arrows have been fired.

Kili flashes me another toothy smile before leaping off towards the far wall to count up his score, I follow at a more leisurely pace. As I draw closer I can already see that I have hit all my hoops, Kili however has missed two and is looking annoyed at himself.

"You are better than me," He complains as I stop beside him, his smile gone. "You got all of yours."

"I suspect I am almost twice your age, which means I have had much longer to practice," I reason, Kili nods. "Though I must say I am impressed, when I was your age I couldn't have hit half of these. You say your uncle taught you?"

"He made me my first bow," Kili tells me, then frowns. "But he never really showed much interest in teaching me."

"He didn't?" I question as the two of us start to collect our arrows, which is harder than it sounds since they are up just a little too high for me to reach easily. Kili, who is just that little bit taller, is not having so much trouble. I try to keep the frown off my face and stretch up on my tiptoes to free my arrow from it's hoop, ignoring the younger dwarf who manages with little effort.

"He was always trying to get me to practice more with swords, like Fili – but I've always liked to shoot," Kili says quietly as he comes over to assist me. "Uncle never said it out loud, but I think he disapproved."

"What rubbish," I say, then slap a hand to my mouth because of course Kili's uncle is the King. To my surprise Kili laughs. "I mean no disrespect, only that does not seem a very sensible to me. You can use a sword?"

"Of course I can!" Kili says, nodding.

"Well then, you are dangerous at long distance and short, what is not to approve of?" I question. Kili ponders this for a moment, reaching up to retrieve another one of my arrows. When he hands it to me he is smiling again.

"I like that! Thank you , Lady Rúin!" Kili tells me, and I smirk.

"Kili, if I am not allowed to call you Prince then you are not allowed to call me Lady," I tell him, he grins. "Now, shall we go again? I suspect you can do better."

"Okay!" Kili nods enthusiastically as we return to our starting position. "Will you tell me more about the archers in Norinbad?"

I nod and start to explain the requirements to become a front-line archer as Kili sets the hoops swinging again.

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**There you go! I hope you like it, as much as I liked writing this chapter I feel like it was a bit stagnant, but I can't pinpoint why - still I hope you enjoyed it and would of course love to hear from you! Thank you for reading, please review/favourite/follow as you see fit!  
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	5. Chapter 5

**Hey guys! Slightly longer wait for this chapter than I'd planned but pesky life has been getting in the way again! Now, a MASSIVE thanks to everyone who reviewed, I literally can't tell you how much I love reading your comments, seriously - likewise with my followers/favourites, you're all wonderful! ****A quick moment to address some comments:**

**Emily: I'll give you as much Brúin as I can, in healthy doses! **

**ThaliaHuntressGrace: I don't have any pictures of the dresses yet either I'm afraid, I'll try and whip a few up in the next couple of days if I'm not too busy - though they'll only be quick, rough pictures! **

**Guest: I may be wrong but I think the reason you can't favourite is because you aren't logged in? I don't know though *shrugs***

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Chapter 5

That evening I ate in the great hall, after much persuasion from Brúin, who was tired of eating in our private family room or whilst wandering around Erebor. He doesn't seem to like the idea of me eating alone, Mahal knows why, because I'd quite enjoy it! Still, I do as he asks, because while I am sure I can win an argument with my brother I do not have the energy to work myself back into his good graces afterwards. Sometimes it is better to just go along with it.

It is not the first time I have visited the mess hall, and as before I was hit with a wall of sound as soon as I stepped through the large doors.

Situated around the kitchens, the dining hall always smells wonderful and remains warm even without the fires that burn all around the room. It is one of the largest enclosed rooms in the mountain, having to fit in so many bodies. Much as you might expect there are several long tables situated in the hall, each one full of dwarves – eating, drinking, shouting and laughing.

"Come along little sister!" Brúin claps me on the shoulder, almost pitching me forwards onto the floor with his brutish strength. My father chuckles behind us and I huff, rolling my shoulders in annoyance once I have steadied myself. "I am hungry!"

"You are always hungry." I say, following after him.

"I am a growing lad!" Brúin exclaims, dragging me forwards to join the line for food with my father a step behind. The food is served from long stone counters where a queue of dwarves are jostling for position, eager to collect their food and start eating.

"If you do any more growing you will not fit into your trousers," I say with a smile, patting his stomach. Brúin growls. I am pretty sure he stopped being a growing lad seventy years ago but do not mistake me, my brother is not fat! Like most of our kind he is thick – solid, you might say – but it is all muscle, I am simply using my younger sisters right to tease him. "It seems you really do have your heart set on emulating father!"

"Watch it my girl," My father grumbles from behind me. "You think it wise to insult both your father and brother in the same sentence?"

"Of course she doesn't," Brúin laughs, my comment apparently forgiven because I have managed to annoy father too. "That won't stop her though!"

My father continues to mutter about Brúin and myself as we take up our plates and allow the servers to pile them high with every food substance imaginable. There are tomatoes, potatoes, sausages and carrots; fish, eggs, bread, ham, chicken, beef and much more – it all smells delicious.

"Look, there is mother and Trúin!" Brúin points out once we are fully stocked, I glance over to where he is looking and spot my sisters fair hair, impossible to miss since it stands out amongst the sea of browns and reds that surround her. "I think they've saved us seats! Come along little sister, you can show them your pretty new frock!"

"On second thoughts, I think I will return to my room to eat." I say, trying not to pull a face.

"Don't be a coward, father is present!" Brúin says, shooting me a grin. I debate my chances of throttling him before father can pry my fingers from his neck, and decide against it. Still, I do not like being called a coward even as a joke, and I glower at my brother in annoyance.

"Will you two stop acting like younglings and behave!" Father grumbles, walking past us towards mothers table. "Yutte will have my hide if you embarrass her!"

"Still afraid of mother? Now who's the coward?" Brúin bravely whispers to me, a grin on his face as father moves away. I snort back a laugh. My father would be positively livid at Brúin's jest had he heard, and I am quite glad my brother has had the good sense to not say it loud enough for the older dwarf to hear – because my father probably _would_ try to strangle him, and that would embarrass everyone, not just mother!

"If it's all the same to you I think I'll take fathers advice, this time." I say, following in the space made by my father as he strolls through the crowd. My fathers considerable size blocks me from my mothers view until he takes his place opposite her at the table – Brúin drops into a space one along from my father, leaving me no other option but to wedge myself in between the two of them.

"Rúin!" My mother says by way of greeting, sounding instantly amazed. "Mahal preserve me! You're wearing a dress!"

"Yes mother," It takes a lot of my willpower not to make a joke about her ageing eyesight, and a nudge from Brúin, as if he knows what's going on in my head and also knows it will get me in trouble. "You were the one who wanted me to purchase a new dress, were you not?"

"I was," Mother says, still awestruck by my new attire. "I didn't expect you to actually wear it though!"

"I will gladly go and change, if you would prefer." I offer, but mother is already shaking her head before I have finished my sentence.

"No, not at all my dear, you look absolutely lovely!" My mother tells me with a warm smile on her face – which quickly turns to a chuckle. "Why you are a rose between two thorns!"

I blink, then grin as I turn my head to view my offended looking father and my laughing brother, between whom I am sitting. Brúin seems to think this is a particularly good joke, and slams his fist down on the table, rattling the cutlery and disturbing the dwarf man sitting on his other side.

"And a pricklier rose has never been seen!" My brother finally says after his laughter has subsided. "But pay her no mind mother, I think she is rather fond of it, she has been wearing it all day – even did her shooting practice in it!"

"Shooting practice! Really Rúin you could have wrecked your new dress!" My mother chides, shaking her head. "Why I'm surprised you haven't ripped it already!"

I half listen to her complaints, but most of my attention is now on my dinner. I haven't had much to eat today and after training I'm starving. Mother continues to moan in my direction and I nod in all the correct places, unable to speak because my mouth is busy chewing it's way through a slice of ham.

This semi-attentiveness is something I have cultivated over many years of having to sit through lectures, stern tellings off and boring lessons by my mother. I do it to a lesser extent with Trúin and only occasionally with my father because if he realised I was not paying attention to him I would get a clout – whereas mother just asks _'Are you listening, Rúin?'_ to which I tell her that yes, I was listening and she carries on none the wiser.

I can't pull if off with Brúin, partly because he seems to know when I am focused on something else and partly because his conversation is too erratic to predict where it will go next, so nodding and mumbling answers like I do with the others is out of the question.

"Rúin wearing a dress isn't even the most momentous thing that's happened today," Brúin cuts in as my mother pauses her complaints to take a breath. "You'll never guess who your darling daughter was training with!"

"No Brúin, I suspect I won't, so why don't you just tell me?" Mother questions, raising her eyebrows expectantly at my brother. I roll my eyes, I knew he was going to bring this up.

"Why it was none other than Prince Kili!" Brúin says, nudging me in the side hard enough for me to almost choke on the potato I'm eating. My mother does a dramatic gasp and Trúin's eyes fly open – though no one seems too worried as I cough and splutter around my spud.

"The Prince?" My sister asks quickly, leaning forward so that her hair is dangerously close to trailing through her dinner. "Was his Majesty there too?"

"No," I say, swallowing the potato with a gasp. I roll my eyes, mainly because this is a stupid question from my sister but also because I am annoyed no one was concerned that I almost choked to death on a potato. "Of course he wasn't! I'd have thought you'd have known that, considering you spend all your time following him around."

"I do not _follow_ him!" Trúin snaps, annoyed. "Mother tell her!"

"Rúin don't say it like that, you make it sound as if your sister is stalking a deer!" My mother says in exasperation. "His majesty has many ladies in his entourage, it is good for your sister to be part of it – it will familiarise her to him."

"I think she'd have better luck with the deer," I say truthfully. Brúin does a valiant job of covering up his laugh by turning it into a cough, then avoids eye contact with everything but the food on his plate. "I can't think of anything worse than being followed around all day – surely all you're doing is allowing him to grow bored of seeing your face!"

"Oh what would you know about it anyway?" Trúin huffs, casting me a dirty look. I shrug.

"About stalking a deer or stalking a king?" I question pleasantly, smiling. "Because either way I'm sure you could do with some pointers."

"That is enough, you two," My mother says, cutting off any more conversation between me and my sister, though the two of us continue to glare at each other across the table. It is almost like we are young again. "And if you must know, Rúin, your sister and I were in a sewing class!"

I tear my gaze away from Trúin's annoyed face to blink at my mother in confusion.

"A sewing class?" I question. "Mother, you and Trúin have been sewing since I learned to walk, why would you go to a class?"

"We weren't there to learn, rock-head," My sister says, reverting to calling me childish names. "We were teaching it."

"Who in Durin's name to?" I ask, still nonplussed.

"Some of the minor noble ladies and their daughters," My mother said, waving a dismissive hand. "Trúin is quite excellent at sewing, as you know. It is a good pass time for her, and provides a little extra spending money too – not to mention it is a wonderful experience for the younger girls – Do you not remember the fun you had at your sewing classes?"

Fun is not the word I would use to describe my memories of sewing lessons. Mother had insisted that I learn, because apparently it is an important skill for a woman to have, and my father had not objected because he was busy training Brúin at the time anyway.

I had spent an hour, twice a week in the company of the worlds most monotonous dwarf woman – Lady Dinia, along with six other poor young girls – all of whom were better at sewing than me, something Lady Dania was always quick to point out. I also remember that I came away from those classes with more stab wounds than training with father.

Memories of my past horrors aside, something else she said has caught my attention, making my eyebrows raise with surprise.

"They pay you for it?" I ask in disbelief.

"Of course they do!" Trúin says as if I am stupid and perhaps I am, because no one works for free. Then she smiles at me and I frown. "Tell me Rúin, have you found a job yet? It's about time you started pulling your weight in this family."

"Now Trúin there is no need to be like that," Mother tells her as I grumpily turn my attention back to my plate to finish the last of my dinner. "We have been in Erebor for less than a week – why it is just good luck that you have managed to find a post already – I will see what I can find for you, Rúin."

"You don't have to mother," I tell her, rolling my shoulders and debating going up to get seconds. I decide against it, because that would require spending more time in my sisters presence. "As Trúin so kindly pointed out I am old enough by far to find a job on my own – it might not be a prestigious as _sewing _but I'm sure I will find something."

"Until then you can help in the forge!" My father finally speaks up, a broad smile on his face. I try not to scowl openly. "I always need a strong pair of arms to work the bellows!"

I frequently assisted my father in his forge when we lived in Norinbad, along with Brúin. It is good experience, and I have learnt many things from my time there, not to mention gaining some impressive muscle - but it is back breaking work, and not something I am in a hurry to start again.

"It is always an option, father," I reply vaguely, neither declining or committing to the offer as I push to my feet. I pick up my plate and nod my head to my mother and father. "If you'll excuse me, I'll take my leave now."

They bid me farewell, even Trúin, because manners are too well drilled into her at this point to outright ignore me. I head over to deposit my dirty plate and cutlery in the allotted area. Then I make my way to the exit, but before I can leave the room I am forced to press myself up against the wall and perform a hasty curtsey as Thorin Oakenshield strides in – flanked by a bald headed dwarf with more tattoos than I can count and his nephews.

His majesty spares me a passing look, his gaze sweeping over and dismissing me in a matter of seconds -too engrossed in his conversation with the tattooed dwarf to notice much other than where he is putting his feet - which is fine by me since I am still embarrassed by our first meeting, and have no desire for a second. I do however receive a wave and a wide grin from the dark haired nephew - and a smile from his light haired brother - who has obviously been told about my practice with Kili.

I don't attempt to leave just yet, because trailing behind the King and the Princes is a gaggle of twittering ladies who pay even less attention to me than King Thorin did – I feel like a piece of furniture as I wait for them to move out of the way, ignored and unimportant. Which suits me just fine, my only wish that they might hurry up so I can leave.

Eventually, once the royals had vacated the entryway and their followers too, I slip out, feeling as if I have just dodged an arrow, and hurry off in the direction of my room to retrieve my book.

It is surprisingly hard to find a secluded spot to read in the Kingdom under the Mountain, despite the many nooks and hidey holes it boasts. There are always servers sweeping in and out of rooms, soldiers stomping through the halls or people talking, heard through walls. I like quiet when I read, somewhere peaceful and isolated.

I try the library, which seems like the most sensible place to begin – except it is closed. The large stone doors are pulled shut and I don't even bother to try opening them. I've never tried to enter the library this late before, and I assume the reason it isn't accessible is because all the archivists have left and don't want anyone messing up their work.

The Library was one of the last places in Erebor to begin rebuilding – obviously not seen as the most pressing of all the Lonely Mountain's problems – which I can understand – getting books in order isn't as important as making sure that the kingdom doesn't come crashing down on itself. I can also understand why the archivists don't want people coming in while they aren't around.

With a sigh I turn on my heel and head back the way I have come to continue my search. I don't want to read in my room, because Brúin doesn't respect privacy and comes in, talking constantly till I have no choice but to put my book down and pay attention to him – something my mother is also guilty of, to a lesser extent.

So I wander Erebor, checking various rooms that I hope will be unoccupied or at least quiet – looking for somewhere I can read in peace – but coming up with nothing. My search is still not going well until -quite by chance – I glance up and spot an opening in the main chamber, high up on the entryway wall. There is a rectangle of moonlight shining though, some way above the other lookout posts and balcony's, which I have never noticed before.

With my book tucked safely under my arm I set off, heading in what I hope is the right direction and silently praying to Mahal that this will end in good results. There are many stairs involved, and it is a long process to work out where the entrance up to this mysterious balcony starts. Unknowingly I walk past it several times in my hunt because I am expecting to see steps leading up, but instead there is a door. The reason I dismiss the doorway at first is because on it there is a sign written in Khuzdul, which reads: "_No entry permitted – Authorised persons only."_ I am obviously not an authorised person, but I am curious enough about the hidden lookout that I debate ignoring the sign.

On one hand, there must be a reason the sign is there – perhaps the balcony is unsafe? Unstable even? I would be foolish to go up there if that were the case – but on the other hand, I have always been unreasonably inquisitive.

With a quick glance up and down the passage to make sure no one is coming, I turn the handle – it is unlocked, which makes me even more intrigued. If it were dangerous the door should be locked, surely? This decides me.

I step through, taking the burning torch from the wall for light, and close the door behind me. Nothing jumps out and attacks me, which is another good sign – I hold the torch higher and am gifted with the sight of more stairs, and at the top the faint glimmer of moonlight. I begin my climb.

The top is not quite so far away as the distant moonlight would have me believe, instead the pathway turns right onto a short landing that I reach in a matter of minutes. This leads out onto a small lookout balcony, which can't be more than thirty foot long and 10 foot wide – the perfect place to read in peace.

I force my torch into the closest wall bracket and begin my examination.

The lookout is surrounded by wall and mountain on three sides. The back wall is the same smooth carved stone of Erebor's front and cut into it is the small opening I spotted from the main chamber - an intricately carved archway that spills warm light out onto the balcony floor. Opposite that is another smaller wall, no higher than my midriff which gives an amazing view of the landscape around the Lonely Mountain, and the sleeping city of Dale below. I allow myself a few moments to stare in awe at the scene, illuminated by moonlight – it really is beautiful! My eyes follow the Celduin as it runs like a pearly ribbon down past Erebor's main gate, around Dale and away to Mahal knows where. I lean forwards between the merlons and glance down to where I can see guards patrolling along the battlements below this one, their armour glinting in the silvery light.

I pull myself away from the lookout wall to poke my head through the archway that leads back into the mountain, gasping as I do so. If I had thought the open chamber of Erebor looked wonderful from the ground floor it was nothing to how it looked from up here. It was like staring down on a giant crystal, lit from within. Everything glowed, gold, green, and orange. I was breathless for a few moments.

Finally, after much staring and awed gasps, I remembered the purpose of my climb and turned away from the warm, colourful wonders of the Kingdom under the Mountain and back to the cool, crisp night of Middle Earth.

We dwarves do not feel the cold as many other races do – that is not to say that we do not feel it at all, even a dwarf can come down with a chill if they don't dress for the weather – we are merely more resistant to it. I can feel the cool air against my skin, but it is not biting as it might be to a human, simply refreshing. The perfect temperature to clear your head.

I am careful as I wedge myself between the cold stone blocks on the battlement, folding my legs up so that my back rests against one square and my knees brush the other. The wall falls away on my right hand side, leaving nothing but open air and a long drop to look forward to if I accidentally fall. It might seem like a strange position to sit in, but I have always liked to feel enclosed whilst reading – this may be because the only time I ever managed to find somewhere peaceful to read when I was younger was to escape Brúin and Trúin by hiding in small spaces neither of them could fit into – and between the battlements is the best place I can think of.

Once I am comfortable I open my book, quickly finding my page and sinking back against the stone as if it will mould around my body – then I read.

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**There you go! Thank you all for reading and please review/favourite/follow as you see fit! The more love the story gets the more I feel like writing it so future chapters are in your hands! XD So yeah, hope you enjoyed it and stay tuned for a little bit of action in the next chapter and the arrival of a new face! Oooooh exciting! Much love! **


	6. Chapter 6

**What completely lovely people you all are! I got some lovely reviews and have tried my hardest to type up a longer chapter as thanks! Haha! It's a little longer than I planned because I got carried away and because I've got interviews to go to all this week and probably wont be able to write anything till the weekend for you.**

**Once again just going to reply to a few comments I guess?:**

**Insane is normal: Potentially XD Well not hate her, but dislike her more than everyone else I suppose?**

**Dani: All of your curiosity questions will hopefully be answered in future chapters once Rúin gets a bit more comfortable with the line of Durin! WINK WINK**

**Guest: Wait and see, wait and see!**

**Just4Me: Now here's a thing I've been having trouble deciding – Archery would be a good subject for a her to teach, but it seems too easy, not to mention I doubt many dwarves in Erebor would be interested! I've been trying to think up another profession she could have but have drawn a blank so far (if anyone has ideas feel free to throw them up)! I'll figure it out as I go! As for Thorin's lady friends constantly following him – I'm sure he ADORES them!**

**Shayran16: (This wasn't really a question but whatever!) I'm glad you don't mind an unhurried plot – this is quite a slow build kind of story, I don't want everyone to suddenly all be best friends and run off into the sunset together, that's not how real life works (not that this is real life XD ) so if you'll all bare with me I hope I can keep you all interested till the good bits start!**

**As always please read and review, it makes me happy, and when I'm happy I write more (life situations permitting)! **

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Chapter 6

"If you don't hurry up the day will be over before we even get there!" Brúin complains, leaning against the door frame as he waits for me. I roll my eyes and tug on my boots, taking my time and ignoring his attempts to rush me.

Brúin wants to go and visit the village of Dale, and I have agreed to accompany him despite my original intention to spend all day in the library. I will not deny that I want to explore the village too, but I also wanted to read and I feel put out that I can't go ahead with my own plans – his constant badgering is not helping.

"And if you don't be quiet, you can go alone." I threaten, he gives me a grin and disappears from my doorway, leaving it open to anyone who walks by. This he has done on purpose to make me move faster, and I am annoyed to say it is working – I am very particular about my personal space, something my brother knows all to well, and don't like the idea of anyone being able to stroll past and look in.

I step out of my room and lock my door, turning to see with some dismay that not only is Brúin waiting for me, but Trúin as well. My brother is grinning, and I try to make my annoyance not quite so obvious, because even though I may act like it I don't intentionally try to hurt my sisters feelings – which is why I tend to not spend much time with her, less chance of offending her that way.

She looks perfect, of course. Her golden hair is plaited in an intricate style, small braids woven into a single big one that drapes over her shoulder like a waterfall of honey. I suppress the urge to run a hand over my unkempt hair, hastily arranged in my usual style of two large braids that begin just below my ears with the rest of it hanging loose.

Her dress is a coral colour that would look repulsive on me, but she manages to pull off without any trouble. I remain in my stormy blue dress, the only one I will willingly wear – though I have already commissioned Lavri for two more, to please mother and to give me something else to put on when this one needs washing.

"Brúin invited me," Trúin says, by way of an explanation. "I need to purchase some things, for my sewing classes."

I'm not sure why she is telling me this, perhaps she assumes I think she actually wants to spend time with me, and doesn't want me to get the wrong impression – or maybe she just wanted to mention her classes again. Whatever the reason my answer remains the same, a non-committal grunt.

"Excellent!" My brother says clapping his large hands together, before motioning for Trúin to lead on. "Let's go, while we still have the advantage of daylight!"

I roll my eyes and follow the two of them as they make their way to the entrance chamber – at a slower pace than I would like – and then to the grand doors that allow passage in and out of the Kingdom under the Mountain.

We step out of the broad entrance and begin our short trek. The sun is shining, and while it is not warm it is neither cold - winter is approaching and the summer moons are dying, though still trying to fight off the chill in the air. I fall into step with my siblings as we head down the long stone walkway which leads to and from Erebor, the City of Dale waits at it's end.

"Father tells me they still haven't quite finished rebuilding New Dale yet," Brúin says in a conversational tone as we walk. "Humans certainly work slowly, don't they - A decade has almost passed since Smaug was slain, and Erebor was back up and running in half the time it has taken this village."

"I don't think it's that they work slowly, Brúin," I tell him, missing the presence of proper pockets to shove my hands into. "They have less people than us, and Dale was completely destroyed during Smaug's attacks. Mountains don't burn or crumble like wood and brick does brother, Erebor had a solid foundation to work upon once it was retaken."

"I suppose," Brúin blinks, as if the thought hadn't occurred to him. "And humans are not as good at building as dwarves anyway, so we cannot blame them for that."

"No, we cannot." I agree, rolling my eyes.

"It's quite flimsy looking though, isn't it?" Trúin pipes up from Brúin's other side. I raise my eyebrows. "You'd think they'd learn and build somewhere more sturdy."

"Not all races are suited to living as we do, sister," I say, trying not to sound too disgruntled by their lack of understanding. Have neither of them picked up a book in their lives? "The race of men in particular find it quite unnerving to be surrounded on all sides by so many tonnes of rock."

"What in Mahal's name for?" Brúin questions with a snort, amused by the notion.

"Humans could not find something more stable than a dwarf-built fortress!" Trúin scoffs, as if the idea is completely ridiculous. "What foolishness! You cannot possibly agree with them?"

"I am not saying I agree with them," I respond, growing annoyed already at my siblings – personally I don't understand it either - In my mind there is nothing safer than our mountain dwellings, impenetrable, immovable and indestructible but for the passage of time – or the occasional dragon. "What I am saying is that humans and dwarves differ greatly! What is right for a wolf is not right for an eagle."

"In any case, I should not like to live here!" Brúin concludes, effectively putting a stop to the conversation as we reach the outskirts of the village.

I never had much call to leave Norinbad, but that doesn't mean I've never seen a human settlement before. My father took Brúin, myself and surprisingly Trúin on various trips with trading caravans to visit the outside world, which was not limited to dwarf only dwellings – though they were our main focus.

And of course Brúin and I did our fair share of hunting in the mountains and surrounding areas, not to mention the occasional Orc attack. We often explored past the boundaries set by our father, venturing away from the mountains in the hopes of finding some grand adventure.

The city of New Dale was similar in many ways to the town of Falar, at the foot of the Langwell river that flows down from the Grey Mountains. Dale is busier, of course, since Falar is a little too isolated and Norinbad isn't nearly as sociable with other races as Erebor – but they share the same building structures, made of a similar sand coloured stone.

We enter the city proper, following Trúin because Brúin would lead us straight to a tavern or get us lost completely. It is much more organised and quieter than the markets in Erebor, but just as colourful and vibrant.

There are shops, proper buildings for permanent sales – and there are stalls, dotted through the open squares and filling any space large enough to hold them and still allow potential customers to flow through.

The majority of the hawkers are human, but there are some dwarves hidden in amongst them, selling gems, jewels and finely crafted weapons – and to my surprise the occasional elf. It's an interesting change of pace from the Mountain bazaar and I'm content to follow my elder siblings around as they browse.

We visit several pop-up stands over the next few hours; some weapons stalls, a dressmakers, a jewellers, a fabric traders and many others besides. I manage to slip away while Brúin and Trúin are debating hair clasps - to look at a small bookstall tended by a tall human woman with light brown hair and eyes the colour of the sky. She smiles at me but doesn't try to initiate conversation, which I appreciate – I like to peruse without interruption.

There are several books here that I've read before, but I spot an interesting looking tome, the leather embossed with strange pattens, which I pull up and flick through. I raise my eyebrows as I realise it's a book of human ghost stories – filled with ominous titles like _'Blood of the First', 'House of Bones' _and '_Whispers of the dead'_. I smirk to myself and turn the book over in my hands, it might be a fun read – and who knows, maybe it will even spook me.

"How much for this one?" I question, holding it up for the seller to see.

"Ah, Ghost's of the South – that's a good one!" She tells me with a smile. "Four gold."

I nod and dig out the coins, passing them over in exchange for the book. She offers to wrap it for me but I decline, planning to put it in Brúin's pack anyway.

"Many thanks." I say.

"A pleasure, Lady Dwarf, though I would advise not to read it in the dark." The human woman warns me, a broad smile on her face. I scoff despite myself as I turn away, the notion of being afraid of a book preposterous. I return to my sister and brother who have moved on to the next stand, selling cotton shirts or something of the like.

"Ah, another book little sister?" Brúin asks as I walk up and push it gently into his bag. He doesn't complain, but flashes me a smirk instead. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Because you have no imagination, big brother, and therefore lack the capacity to be surprised," I tell him with a smile, tightening the strap on his bag and stepping away. "You do however make a very good pack mule."

"I believe that's the only reason for sisters to have brothers," He tells me as Trúin comes away from the stall to join us. "Now, my lovely sisters, what say we find a place to dine?"

"We could return to Erebor." Trúin suggests, and though she doesn't say it out loud the look on her face is enough to let both Brúin and I know that she has no desire to eat in any of the places in Dale.

"Are you done looking around already?" Brúin asks with a frown, which my sister mirrors. "I think I saw an interesting place to eat just down here, why don't we try there!"

He doesn't give Trúin a moment to object and instead turns on his heel and strides off in the direction he images is the right way. Trúin huffs, I smirk to myself and the two of us follow after him before he is lost in the crowd.

The establishment Brúin has guided us to was in fact an inn, called the Rusty Dagger, which did not endear itself to Trúin in the least. It was hidden away behind the main square, down another alley way and I wonder briefly how Brúin actually spotted it.

The building looks run down despite the fact that the village is all relatively new, and if I hadn't known better I would have thought it was a remnant of the original city. It is two stories high, made of the sand coloured stone that is popular in Dale, though the rock is stained green in places from water leaks and growing a suspicious looking fungus. The windows are grimy and all I can see through them are vague shapes of furniture and the blurred motion of the people within. I will admit that it wasn't the nicest looking place, and when we walk in I am able to confirm that it really _isn't_ the nicest of places.

It smells like my father after he's worked long hours in the forge and not bothered to bathe. Not only does it have an odour like unwashed bodies, but there is also a strange sticky substance on the floor that pulls on my boots, and as we step in I see something that looks suspiciously like blood splattered up the doorway – and on the ceiling.

"Brúin, I'd much rather we went-" Trúin starts to say, but our brother cuts her off with a smile as he strides left, over to the window table and pulls out a chair. He motions her into it. "Really Brúin I-"

"Come now sister," Brúin says, wiggling the chair. "I think it will be good for you to see how the other half lives!"

My sister looks like she still wants to protest, but the thought of leaving alone is daunting to her, because even she can't have failed to notice the dark looks the patrons have been sending us since we arrived.

With a deep breath my sister steps forward and lowers herself into the chair my brother has offered her, a look of disdain on her face. Brúin tucks her in comes around to the other side of the table where he pulls out another chair for me, giving a mock bow as he does so – I roll my eyes but accept the chair.

Brúin disappears for a few moments to order us some food at the counter, so Trúin and I sit in awkward silence, trying not to make eye contact with each other or any of the other customers in the inn. I fail miserably because despite the fact that this is a seedy tavern full of leery humans and several dark eyed dwarves I am still curious about it.

I am sitting with a wall at my back, Trúin across from me with an empty seat beside each of us – the rest of the tavern is laid out before me and I take a quick look around.

It's quite a large room, with a fireplace on one wall and on my left a set of stairs leading up to the accommodations on the second floor. There are eight tables around the room, ours is in the corner, beside the window, and a further four more tables are occupied – three by men and one by a group of dwarves. The counter runs along the back wall, opposite the entrance, with another door behind that, which I assume leads back to the kitchens.

I am studying a slice on the wall that looks as if it might have been caused by a sword swipe, when Brúin drops down into the chair beside my sister, blocking it from my view.

I am pleased to see he has bought drinks, an ale each for him and myself and a glass of human wine for my sister. I've never liked the flavour of wine myself, but Trúin says it is an acquired taste – which I take to mean it is too good for me anyway.

"Three of today's special on the way." Brúin says, pushing the tankard of ale across the table to me with a smirk.

"Lovely, what is it?" Trúin questions, glancing around to look for a menu board or something that will give a hint as to what type of food we can expect. Brúin's grin widens and he lifts his mug to take a sip before he answers.

"Why, the best meat pies!" He tells us and I snort back a laugh. Why am I not surprised? "The chef assures me that they're even made from real animal meat, which I thought you would appreciate."

Trúin closes her eyes for a few seconds as if she is imagining herself elsewhere, then nods to my brother with a smile. Brúin chuckles to himself and I ignore both of them in favour of my ale, which I am sad to say tastes a bit like feet and does not give me high hopes for the pies.

Our meal arrived within fifteen minutes of it being ordered and I think I can speak for myself and both my siblings when I say we surprised that it actually looked quite good. The pies are a beautiful golden colour, with a flaky crust and the most mouthwatering aroma.

Even more startling than the arrival of a decent plate of food is the fact that Trúin and I haven't actually argued once since sitting down – I am hesitant to say that I am actually enjoying the company of both my brother and sister.

"What did I tell you?" Brúin says around a mouthful of meat pie. Trúin and I both look up from our meals to frown at him. "These are good, right?"

I settle for a nod, since I too have a mouthful of delicious pie. Trúin puts down her fork, dabs the side of her mouth with a handkerchief she pulled from her bag and smiles.

"Surprisingly, yes," She tells my brother. "I admit I was dubious at first, this isn't the sort of place I would have chosen to eat, but once you look past the dead bugs in the window and the stains on the cutlery, it's actually quite pleasant."

"That's the spirit." I snort after swallowing my mouthful.

"See, you need to be a bit more adventurous, sister!" Brúin tells her, taking another swig of his foot-ale. "You might enjoy yourself!"

"Enjoy is probably too strong of a word, Brúin," She says, picking her words carefully. I chuckle and return to my pie, taking small unappreciative sips of my ale to wash it down.

"And of course his majesty is always very busy, so it is interesting to see what kind of things he does, in his day to day activities," Trúin is saying, waving her hand around and sloshing the red wine in her glass almost to the point of spilling. Something I did not know about my sister – she becomes very chatty after a few glasses of wine. She isn't drunk, but she is certainly more relaxed – I cannot tell if it is the drink or the fact that mother isn't around to rein her in. "Not all day to day things of course, we do not follow him into the baths!"

I nod and try to hide the smile that threatens to take over my face. I can't imagine the look on King Thorin's face should his pursuers accompany him to bath, though I am sure there is nothing the ladies would like more.

"There are times we are not permitted to follow him, of course," She carries on, setting her glass down on the table for a moment. "Lord Dwalin – he is the head of the royal guard, you know? - he makes sure the King has plenty of privacy when he needs it."

"That is good of him." I say, though I doubt a King ever gets as much privacy as he needs, such is the nature of his job.

I am partially listening to Trúin as she continues to talk, though her current line of conversation seems more directed at Brúin – something to do with members of the royal guard. I wonder if it would be possible for me to carry a water skin full of wine around with me, so that I might use it on my sister when she starts to annoy me, but I doubt mother would approve.

"And I – Brúin, where are you going? I was talking to you!" Trúin says indignantly, I blink my eyes back into focus and see her frowning at my brother, who has pushed to his feet.

"I am well aware you were talking to me!" Brúin says with a deep chuckle. "But I have had too much ale, and am in need of a bathroom so unless you would like to explain another mysterious stain to the bar keep I suggest you allow me to leave!"

I wrinkle my nose, not because of my brothers choice of words, but because he has been drinking that horrible tasting ale as if it were water. There are three empty tankards around his place, and there would be more had the bar man not come over to collect them up.

"I am surprised you have lasted this long." I say, my eyebrows raised. Brúin laughs again and heads off in the direction of the stairs to search out the bathroom. He is gone all of thirty seconds before two dwarves from the far table stand up and join us, dropping uninvited into the empty seats.

I do not recognise them – which is not saying much, since I do not claim to know more than a handful of the dwarves within Erebor – rather I am not familiar with their clothing. All the guards under the Lonely Mountain wear royal blue tabards and a uniform set of plate mail to signify their allegiance to Erebor and the King. Norinbad did the same for Lord Gorin, it's ruling leader.

These dwarves however are wearing red, with dark plate and must be from somewhere different, somewhere unfamiliar.

Trúin blinks slightly, but doesn't show her initial shock at having a stranger sit down beside her, instead she glances at the dwarf on her right, then across the table to the newcomer opposite me and gives them a small smile.

"We do not require any company, thank you." She tells them politely, ever the noble woman. Then she sips daintily from her glass and attempts to ignore them in the hopes that they will go away – I get the feeling they will not be taking her subtle hint. I have been in enough questionable taverns to know that these two are steaming drunk, and are just as likely to leave as I would be to burn a book.

"That your body guard?" The dwarf beside Trúin asks with a hiccup, motioning towards the stairs where Brúin disappeared. My sister wrinkles her nose at the smell of beer on his breath, disgust plain on her face – she has never liked the smell of ale, something she frequently pointed out each time I carried Brúin home after a long drinking session.

He is a broad fellow, this dwarf beside my sister - with a mane of hair the colour of old rust and a neatly braided beard that has several decorative silver clasps down it's length. The dwarf beside me however is younger, with a shock of dark hair and only a thin beard. He is less muscled, and his armour isn't as well fitting as his companions. I have no doubt that Brúin would be able to identify where they come from just by looking at them – it is the sort of thing father would have taught him – but I cannot tell, by their clothing or their accent.

"No," Trúin replies, her voice taking on the steely edge I have only ever heard from mother which sends shivers down my spine. "Our brother, whom I doubt will be pleased to find you in his seat."

The red haired dwarf lets out a loud belly laugh, and I can see his companions at their table looking over with dark expressions. I let out a sound best described as a growl and return my attention to the more immediate problem.

"Your brother won't mind!" He tells her, leaning in close enough to make even me uncomfortable.

I have been in situations like this before – though not frequently, since I very rarely visited taverns in anything but my leathers, and never a dress unless I was with my family, which meant the watchful eye of my father - and the only way I have ever been able to resolve the problem of unwanted attention was with my fists. However, Trúin is the eldest, and as such I should defer to her better judgement on how to handle this – except I am not sure she knows how.

"I can say with certainty that my brother will mind and even with the smallest chance that he does not – I do!" Trúin snaps, her eyes suddenly furious. "Now remove your hand from my person at once."

My eyebrows rise despite myself, because I cannot see the dwarfs hand, and therefore didn't know that he was actually touching my sister. Hmm, what a predicament.

Dwarf males are not usually like this, I should say, usually they are very respectful of their women and I have little doubt that when these two sober up enough to realise what they have done they will be mortified. Much with the race of men, alcohol does strange things to the confidence of it's consumers – I have seen my brother make a fool of himself enough times to know that it can make even the nicest of people make questionable choices.

"I'd do what she says, if I were you." I say, a tight smile on my face. The dwarf laughs and ignores me and that just makes me even more angry.

My sisters eyes dart to the stairway where Brúin disappeared an age ago, and for a moment I think he has returned to take the decision of what to do out of my hands – but he hasn't and I realise that Trúin is simply hoping he will appear.

As a lady, Trúin is ill equipped to start fights. While all dwarven women are fierce, she has never been a warrior – that being said she is still her fathers daughter and as such does not allow others to see when she is afraid. We dwarves are much to proud for for that sort of thing – which is why, when the red haired dwarf leans in close to her and whispers in her ear she does not flinch or jerk away from him. She flicks her eyes to me but she does not ask for my help.

Fortunately for her she does not need to ask, because at that moment the foolish dwarfling next to me attempts to slide his hand across my own knee, and I am not nearly as well trained as my sister in the art of grin and bear it.

I push to my feet, letting the dark haired dwarfs hand fall away from my leg as I do so. Then I place a hand on the back of his head and promptly introduce his face to the top of the table. Dwarves have very thick skulls - I have seen my father dent a metal shield with his - and so, with this in mind, I use plenty of force and am rewarded by the satisfying crack of splintering wood as he impacts.

The dark haired dwarf lets out a shout of pain as I kick him sideways out of his chair and onto the floor, freeing up a potential escape route. His companion roars, getting unsteadily to his feet, my sister forgotten for a moment – Trúin has had the sense to move swiftly away from the scuffle.

Across the table the red haired dwarf towers over me. He is slightly larger than Brúin in width and height, and I know I cannot beat him in a fight - not that I plan to even try.

He is looking angry, his eyes unfocused and dark as he watches me, lips pulled back in a silent snarl. I reach for the knife I had been using to eat with only a short while ago, he follows the movement and lets out a laugh because the blade is unimpressive, not even sharp, a butter knife. I have no intention of trying to stab him with it, not while he is wearing all that armour in any case, but he doesn't need to know that.

I don't think he expects it when I shove the table forwards and into his gut, forcing him to splutter as he loses balance and flops over the wooden surface. I grab hold of his beard, pulling it taut then bring my arm down, knife in hand and stab it into the table. Right through his beard - I twist it in his facial hair, wedging it in at am angle and burying it to the handle.

The man growls and tries to pull away, but the metal clasps in his beard get caught on the knife and he stills, knowing if he tries to force his way free it will tear out a substantial chunk of his impressive and lovingly tended beard.

I feel something wet and look down to see that I have spilt my ale, which is no great loss, though it has started to seep into my dress. I grimace. Now I'm going to have to wash it.

Brúin takes this moment to thunder down the stairs, followed cautiously by a pretty looking human woman who looks as if she might be a maid – no doubt the reason for his late appearance. I resist the urge to roll my eyes and glance over to make sure Trúin is unharmed.

"You could not wait?" Brúin questions, stepping over the still groaning dark haired dwarf who is clutching his face to reach my side, an annoyed look on his face. "I was gone two minutes and you could not wait to start a fight till I returned?"

"You were gone fifteen minutes and the situation was taken quite out of my hands!" I defend, equally annoyed. The red haired dwarf attempts to reach up and remove the knife, but I slam my hand down on the table top next to his head, and he thinks better of it. "I am in no way responsible!"

"No my Lady, you are not," A voice says, sighing. Brúin and I look up to see that the other dwarves from the table across the room have approached, though none of them move to help their kinsmen. "All blame lies with me."

"And you are?" Trúin questions, apparently recovered from her unwanted proximity to the large man I have trapped on the table. She raises an eyebrow.

"Forgive me, I am Fillen, son of Hilren," Fillen tells us with a bow, though the names mean nothing to me. "We are here with the company of our Lord Dain Ironfoot, of the Iron Hills."

"Dain Ironfoot?" Brúin muses from beside me, tapping his chin.

"Release me!" The russet haired dwarf demanded. He is ignored.

"Yes, he has come to take counsel with the King under the Mountain. He only took a few of his guards with him, allowing the rest of us to relax after our journey," Fillen explains, looking embarrassed as his gaze travels over his drunken companions. "Most of our men retired to the mead halls in Erebor, but Lord Hain decided to visit Dale – we were to accompany him, to keep him out of trouble."

"Well you've done a splendid job." I say sarcastically, unable to help myself. Fillen bows to us again, a motion that is copied by the three guards behind him.

"As you say my Lady, we have failed," He sighs once more, standing upright again. "We were about to intervene when you... handled the situation."

"My sister has never had much trouble with drunken rabble." Brúin says, holding out his hand to me so that he may help me over the dark haired dwarf who remains slumped and bleeding against the ground.

"So I see," Fillen says, gifting me with a slight smile, his next words are more directed at Trúin. "Though you have my most sincere apologies, I should not have allowed it to progress as far as it did – Lord Dain will here of this. I will see that the inn keeper is reimbursed for any damages to his property as well."

"Something tells me this isn't the first scuffle he's ever seen," Brúin says jovially, glancing over at the bar man who was watching them calmly, wiping out a glass.

"Fillen!" The red haired dwarf -Hain- growled from where he was still pinned to the table. "Fillen stop prattling an' let me up! Mahal damn you all!"

To my surprise it is Brúin who reaches over and yanks the knife from the table, setting Hain the drunken dwarf free. My brother then proceeds to lift Hain to his feet, before pulling back his arm and slamming his fist into the red haired dwarfs face.

"If my sister did not make it clear before, I hope that will teach you something about how to treat a woman," My brother says, dusting off his hands as Hain dropped back into the chair, clutching at his potentially broken nose. Then Brúin smiles, his attention on Fillen and the rest of the Iron Hills dwarves. "Welcome to Erebor!"

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**Weren't expecting that were you! Ha! Umm yes, so, hope you enjoyed a little sibling bonding in the loosest sense and followed my erratic train of thought. The next chapter is the one you all want (sort of), so stay tuned, keep showering me with all the reviews, follows and favourites! You marvellous readers! Any questions, thoughts or theories as to what will happen are always welcome, I love speculation, gives me ideas :D Much love!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Apologies for the wait, as I mentioned my life is a bit of a shambles at the moment! But yes, I've cobbled together another chapter for you all, and I hope you like it! I'm absolutely amazed that I've still been getting reviews, favourites and follows for this even now XD Some of the reviews made me grin like a child! Honestly it means the world to me - please keep it up and I'll try my best to deliver! Enjoy!**

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Chapter 7

Despite not being completely done with our exploration of Dale my siblings and I decide that we've had quite enough excitement for one day, and make our way back up the walkway to Erebor. Brúin leads us - because even he can't fail to steer us in the right direction here – and Trúin walks with me a few steps behind him.

She keeps sending me sideways glances, turning her head slightly to view me, mouth opening and closing like as fish out of water. I'm not sure if she's trying to do it discreetly, – if so she is doing a terrible job- if she is trying to get my attention, or if she has an entirely different motive that I haven't thought of yet.

"You will need to send your dress off to be washed right away," My sister blurts out suddenly. I blink at her, my eyebrows raised as her cheeks flush a rosy pink. "To get the stains out I mean, and – Mahal, is that blood?"

I glance down, pulling at the front of the fabric to look at the splatters marring it. There is an orange-brown mark from the beer I spilt when I knocked the table – and on my left side a few darker crimson splashes.

"I'd say so." I nod, annoyed. Blood stains frequent quite a lot of my clothing, but I had been making a conscious effort to keep my new dress free of them. I assume these belong to the young dark haired dwarrow who's head I slammed into the table. I suppose it is irrational to blame the dwarf for it, but I am going to anyway.

"Well I'm sure the launders in the mountain will be able to get that out!" She tells me, a nervous smile on her face. "They never had trouble in Norinbad."

"I suppose." I say, unsure of how to reply. I suppress the urge to remind her that we are not in Norinbad – thanks to her – because it seems as if she is trying to be kind to me, and I am in no hurry to make her stop.

There is another silence, filled by Brúin as he begins to whistle jovially up ahead. He keeps glancing back over his shoulder and smirking, but not attempting to save the failing conversation between my sister and I. No doubt he is enjoying himself.

"You didn't have to do that, you know," Trúin tries again after a moment. "At the Inn, I mean."

I scratch the back of my head stiffly and sigh. I'm not sure what she wants me to say – her voice is strangely flat and I can't tell if she is annoyed at me for intervening or if she is trying to save face, unable to admit it was a situation she didn't know how to handle. Eventually I settle for a non-committal shrug and answer in the most neutral way I can.

"They were asking for it," I manage, clearing my throat. "Besides I haven't had a good brawl in ages."

While it is true I haven't been involved in a fight for quite a while now I think it is a bit of a stretch to call what happened in Dale a brawl. More of a light misunderstanding – but of course my sister doesn't need to know that, to her it probably seemed as much - what she would have thought about some of the tavern scraps Brúin has been involved in I hate to imagine.

Trúin nods and I take this to mean that my answer is acceptable, and by that I mean I don't have to admit I did it for her and she has no need to thank me. Balance is restored. With that sorted, Brúin rejoins us, deeming it safe and the three of us continue up toward the Kingdom under the Mountain.

When we are inside Brúin bids Trúin and I farewell and saddles me with his backpack, abandoning us in the entrance hall, intent on finding father for a training session. I huff and shoulder the pack, not overly bothered as I remember it has my book in it – and I don't want him running off with that. Trúin and I carry on together for a little longer in stilted silence before she too leaves, to search out mother and fill her in on the relevant gossip.

I am not bothered by either departure, and secretly am glad that I am not the one that will have to tell either of my parents about the events that transpired down at the inn. It is impossible to predict how either one will react to any given situation – sometimes I think I know, and they end up doing the exact opposite of what I expect. I would think my father to be impressed with the speed and relative ease in which I beat the two larger dwarves, but he is just as likely to fly off the handle at my lack of self control, or some other such nonsense! I snort to myself and carry on, quite happy to not be the messenger for once

Once back in my room I quickly strip off my dress, folding it carefully and placing it on my bed before turning to search for some new clothes. My wardrobe doesn't hold much, just a few items of clothing I brought with me from Norinbad and the green dress mother gave to me on the day of our arrival in Erebor. I don't much care for spending hours picking out outfits – much to mothers annoyance - and quickly changed into a pair of soft, dark, form fitting trousers and a flowing white shirt. Over the top of that I pull on a thin coat, made of fine cloth and embellished with golden rune patterns across the front.

I remove my book and leave Brúin's pack beside the door that joins onto the family room – so he doesn't go searching through my things later when he barges in to find it. It is tempting to forget about my dress, lie on my bed and start reading – but I know I will regret it if I do, and Lavri would have my head if she knew – so I swap the book for the folded dress and exit my room again.

I leave my dress in the capable hands of a young dwarf woman named Jarna, whom assures me she has plenty of experience in removing blood from clothing. She if a pretty girl, and I wonder briefly how she came to be working in the laundry room - though I expect her family is too poor to get her a higher position. Briefly I am reminded of my own need for a job, and resolve to try harder so that mother doesn't moan. I hand over a few extra silver pieces to see the dress returned to my rooms once it has been cleaned and then make my exit.

The laundry rooms are on levels lower than I had previously visited, and I spent some time admiring the wall art and carvings I hadn't seen before. I'd not had many reasons to visit below the kitchens, and I waste a good few hours just wandering up and down the corridors and halls to look at the decoration and get under the feet of the busy servers.

Eventually though I began to grow hungry, and head back up to find something to eat. Annoyingly I once again find myself in the company of my family in the dining hall of Erebor – I have a sneaking suspicion that Brúin made them wait till I appeared, just to torture me. He waves me over almost as soon as I enter and makes a space beside himself.

If possible it is even louder and more cramped than my previous visits – because of the visitors from the Iron Hills, all the nobles have turned out to get a good look at his Lordship, not to mention a collection of his own warriors and attendants.

On top of the added bodies in the room we also have the added joy of my fathers bad mood. Evidently he did not take the news of our earlier adventure well and has been sitting with a black cloud over his head since we returned. I find out shortly after seating myself that he thinks it is appalling that Lord Ironfoot's soldiers were allowed to get so drunk as to dishonour themselves so much - and none of us feel brave enough to mention the many times he returned home from drinking after a long journey, covered in blood or vomit – his own or someone elses – after probably getting into some rather questionable situations himself.

Mother was not nearly as angry as father when Trúin told her of our little escapade down at the Rusty Dagger – in fact she was much more interested about the arrival of Dain Ironfoot than his guardman's drinking habits. She had of course given Brúin a strict telling off for leaving his sisters undefended and forcing me to act in his place. Trúin was assured that she had acted according and my involvement was not marked upon.

Brúin looked suitably chastised until mother turned her back, then he smirked at me, rolling his shoulder and looking completely unaffected by the rebuke.

Trúin has been, dare I say it, pleasant to me in so much that she greeted me when I sat down beside my brother and didn't make any snide comments as she usually did.

"Oh look, that must be him now!" Mother says. She abandons her fork in favour of straining her neck to see over the heads of the occupants in the hall, to where Thorin Oakenshield had just walked in, accompanied by an unfamiliar dwarf.

I am curious to see what Dain Ironfoot, Lord of the Iron Hills, looks like, so I push myself up slightly to see over Brúin's fat head and gaze down the length of the hall – keeping one eye on my own dinner, because I do not trust my brother nor my father not to steal food from my plate.

Thorin and Dain are striding down the room towards the head table, and I am unsurprised to see that the Lord of the Iron Hills looks a lot like Hain, who I suspected to be his brother – due to Fillen's reluctance to intervene and of course their rhyming names, which is a common thing among siblings. He is large, more on par with my brother's size than his own, but with the same rust coloured hair – though his is brighter, redder. His beard is long, braided not quite as extravagantly as Hain's but still attractive. To my surprise he is smiling, not something I associate with royalty.

I re-seat myself, unsure if I am impressed or not.

My mother fans herself with her napkin, ignoring the frown my father shoots across the table at her when she lets out an airy sigh. I snort and drop my eyes to my plate, spearing a piece of beef on my fork.

"Now Trúin, pay close attention," Mother says, tapping my sister on the arm as the two dwarf lords go past. "Lord Dain is the second cousin of King Thorin, he was the one who came to his majesties aid at the Battle of the Five Armies!"

"He is a good fighter, then?" My sister questioned.

"Oh aye," My father says, pulling his gaze from the red haired lord -who has just seated himself at the top table - in order to weigh in on the conversation. "Fought at the battle of Azanulbizar, a whelp at the time – but then so was King Thorin!"

"Dalkin!" Mother scolds, looking annoyed. "You cannot call the King under the Mountain a whelp! Nor the Lord of the Iron Hills!"

"I can," My father protests flatly, his thick eyebrows pulled down to a frown. "It's true! They were naught but boys during that fight – strong lads, I'll admit but still young."

"I think what mother means is that it's inappropriate to call them whelps now, when one is the King and the other is a Lord," I say, smiling at my father who just grunts in annoyance and returns his attention to his dinner. "Though I didn't know Lord Ironfoot fought at the battle of Azanulbizar."

"His father was killed in the battle." My own tells me, still grumbling, and I blink. Another thing I hadn't know, perhaps I will have to do a little research into our history.

"Oh how terrible." My sister breathes.

"And he wasn't the only one," Father continues to regale us with negativity. "Thousands died, horrible battle it was."

As far as I am aware my father did not participate in that particular fight, but I am not one hundred percent sure, since I was a youngling when it happened. I rack my brains, trying to think of an extended period of time in which my father was away, and perhaps returned injured – but that is harder than it sounds, my father was a soldier and he often went off on many expeditions with the other warriors and came back with all manner of wounds. I am about to ask but mother gets there first.

"Yes, well... in any case," My mother says, shooting my father a look as she tried to steer us back to less depressive topics. "I think it would be a rather good idea to spend some time with his Lordship, to make yourself stand out, you understand?"

"With Lord Ironfoot?" Trúin questions, a frown on her face. "Whatever for?"

"He is close to our King," My mother says, daintily cutting a piece of pork. "Perhaps he might remark to his majesty on what a lovely young lady he met and spoke to?"

"Seems a bit unfair," I remark, finishing up the last of my dinner. "I mean, to use Lord Dain to get closer to the King?"

I've read enough human romance stories to know that this particular plan never works out well – though it does seem as if humans make their love lives much more complicated than they need be, I am fairly certain Trúin would not unintentionally fall in love with Lord Ironfoot on her quest to seduce the King, but you never know! Dwarven romance is a strange thing, we do not really choose who we fall in love with, it just happens.

"Oh don't be foolish Rúin," My mother laughs. "I am not asking her to bed the man, simply make friends with him."

I blink and suppress a chuckle as my brother and father tense on either side of me, uncomfortable with the turn this conversation has taken. Trúin rolls her eyes slightly, something my mother would not approve of if she had seen.

"Well let us just hope he has more charm than his brother!" Trúin says with a tactful change of conversation, Brúin laughs out loud and it takes me a moment to realise that my sister has made a joke. My face cracks into a grin and I laugh along with my brother, till my mother hushes us.

As I've finished my dinner, I spare a few glances at the King under the Mountain and the Lord of the Iron hills. While they may be related and both be dwarven royalty I think that is where the similarities end.

For all the time I have been watching the two of them King Thorin has smiled perhaps twice, where as Lord Dain has barely stopped. I can hear his deep, resounding laugh all the way from the top table as he listens to something Prince Fili is saying. He seems to be genuinely enjoying himself and is actively trying to generate conversation with those around him, unlike his Majesty, who simply sits and watches the goings on.

I have little experience with royals on the whole, but noblemen and ladies are not new to me. I have met several very sour Lords in my time, but they were all well into their three-hundreds and had every right to be grumpy – unlike his Majesty, who is barely thirty years my elder and appears to think brooding is a hobby.

With a quiet chuckle I turn my attention back to my family, not wanting them to notice my sudden interest in the head table and jump to conclusions. I spend a few more moments trying to be interested in my mothers plotting attempts but I find I cannot and I excuse myself shortly after. I've had quite a lot of excitement for one day and I'd like nothing more than to go and read somewhere nice and quiet – away from the noise and hum of the dining hall.

"Off to read again, sister?" Brúin asks as I push to my feet. I grin, he knows me too well. With a round of goodbye's I take my leave, quickly making my way out of the dining hall. I stop briefly in my room to pick up my new book, the _Ghosts of the South_ before heading eagerly to my perch on the restricted balcony.

It has been almost a week since I found the small lookout space, and I have visited it every night to read and clear my head before sleeping – undisturbed by anyone. I had a thought that perhaps the sign is old? That someone had just forgotten to remove it after finishing repairs or some such, but I doubt I will ever know for sure.

I am not a coward, and I would challenge anyone to say otherwise – even so I recognise that I have made a large mistake with purchasing this book. _'I should have listened'_ is the thought that keeps circling around my head as I huddle on the floor by the archway, soaking up as much of the warm light spilling out from Erebor's interior as I can.

The human woman warned me, she told me not to read it in the dark and I ignored her, thinking her foolish – I regret not listening to her, truly, because this book is terrifying.

Do these wraiths really exist in the world? These phantoms that suck the soul from your very bones? The skeletons that eat your flesh to restore their own? I do not count myself as well travelled but even so I have see plenty of the world, I am not naive enough to believe there is only good in Middle Earth -Orcs prove this point unmade - but surely these creatures are fantasy – make believe, to frighten babes into behaving. They are just tales, but even so they have chilled me to the bone.

So far there have been no dwarves in these stories, something for which I am eternally grateful - because until there are I can pretend that it is only poor, unfortunate human souls that these ghosts prey on. This is the only reason I have been able to keep reading

I would never, _ever _admit it, not to anyone – but I have never wanted to throw a book away before I began reading this one. I was originally seated between the battlements, as I had every other night I had visited in the past week, but had to move to the relative light of the archway shortly after finishing the first short story in the book.

My heart racing, I hear every noise of the night, even some that are not there, and wish beyond anything that I had a sword with me – any kind of weapon, even the butter knife I had wielded earlier in the day. But from the outcome of the tales I have been reading a sword would not help me much.

I pride myself on being a good dwarf. I like my meat, and my ale, my gold and my gems – I believe in the strength in my arms, the sureness of my sight and the sharp edge of an axe – I have always been safe in the knowledge that there is no foe on Middle Earth I could not sink a blade into, nothing that would not die if I hit it enough times – until now.

This book! Nothing but parchment, leather and fading ink has reduced me to a cowering dwarrowling! Oh if my father could see me now, the shame I would bring to him! Luckily for me, I am in no danger of him finding my reading spot, so my embarrassment is witnessed only by the dark skies above me. Or so I had thought.

So wrapped up in the tale of the ethereal beast that protected a long forgotten tomb, I didn't hear the quiet footsteps coming up the stairs to my left, nor did I spot the shadow in the doorway as it stopped.

"Who are you?" A gruff voice demands from the darkness.

I don't scream, or yelp in fright, which I guess is something – I did however let out a rather vulgar curse in Khuzdul and throw _Ghosts of the South_ with all my strength in the direction of the voice. I suppose I had been hoping to injure -or at the very least distract the mystery presence enough to get to my feet so I might have a fighting chance.

I hit my mark, which is unsurprising considering how good my aim is, and was rewarded with an annoyed grunt – the blasted book falls to the floor with a heavy thump and I am inclined to leave it there. I feel like a child, my blood pounding through my ears at the thought of some ghoul coming to leech out my soul and leave me for dead – the reality, however, is much worse.

Out of the darkness steps none other than Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, a deep scowl on his bearded face. He crosses his arms over his chest and glares at me, where I stand illuminated in the light of the archway.

"M-My King!" I stammer, completely mortified. "Oh, forgive me I.. I didn't.. You frig- you startled me and I..."

There is nothing I can say to defend myself, and indeed I find myself shrinking under his darkeyed gaze. I haven't even the choice of escaping into the darkness, because he is blocking the passageway, and of course the light from the archway has illuminated my face enough for him to get a good look at me.

"You are the Lady Rúin, are you not?" He questions. I nod, unable to answer, my horror building. "My nephew speaks of you fondly – I trust you did not try to assault him with literature?"

I can feel my face heating up at his words. Oh Mahal what have I gotten myself into this time?

"I am so sorry!" I say, pressing a hand to my mouth and shaking my head in disbelief because surely this can't be real. "Of course I did not assault Kili – I m-mean the Prince! - and I – I certainly didn't mean to-"

"What are you doing up here?" He cuts off my rambling apology, something I am both grateful and humiliated by. I had been so worried about accidentally throwing my book at him that I had completely forgotten that I wasn't supposed to be up here at all. "You have a book – before you threw it at me, at least - one would assume you could read the sign on the door?"

"Yes, your highness I-" I feel as if I should just throw myself off the wall and end all this embarrassment now, before mother hears of it. "Forgive me, I only wanted a place to read. I-I do apologise!"

With that said I drop into a curtsey, bow my head and scurry past him into the blissful darkness of the stairwell – all thoughts of lurking ghosts pushed out of my mind in favour of the real horror I have just experienced.

I hear him call after me, but I am too embarrassed to turn around and return to the balcony. It is rude, beyond rude to ignore the King, but I cannot face him. Oh Mahal, I cannot believe what I have just done.

"I attacked the King! With a book!" I gasp out as I fling open the door and reach the corridor at the bottom of the stairs, flattening myself against the wall and inhaling deeply for fear I am having a panic attack. I would rather face a warg pack, alone and unarmed than ever feel such humiliation again. Thoughts of leaving Erebor flit through my head, tempting me. I could have my things gathered and be on my pony before the hour ends, and miles from the Kingdom by the time dawn arrives.

I shake my head and stumble away from the wall, worried his Majesty will come looking for me to exact his punishment. I entertain the idea of going to mother for help, surely she could advise me on the best course of action – but no, she would skin me alive, disown me, and of course there would be many lectures which I cannot even begin to deal with. Trúin? No, she has just begun to treat me like a sister. She would surely be mortified by my accidental actions.

This is something I must deal with myself, by completely avoiding his Majesty in every way possible. If I do not see him perhaps he will not seek me out, and if I do not make my presence felt he may forget, in time, that I hit him with a book. I cringe again, my face heated at the too recent memory, I feel as if his eyes are still staring at me - judging me unworthy and disapproving.

It is only when I am safely back in my room, buried deep within the covers of my bed - as if they will help hide me from my shame – that I realise I left my book up on the balcony. I suppose it does not matter. I can never go back there again – I may not ever leave my room again.

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**Oh the shame! What will mother say if she finds out! Were you expecting Rúin and Thorin's first meeting to go that well? *chuckles* Ah well, I'm sure it will all turn out for the best! It was a bit of a hastily pieced together chapter but I really hope you all enjoyed it, and I will of course try to get another one up as soon as time permits! As always any reviews/favourites/follows/suggestions and questions are much appreciated and always welcome. Please review, much love, till next time! **


	8. Chapter 8

**Well first of all, very sorry for the long wait for this chapter - I've had a bit of a bad time and no motivation whatsoever to write but all your lovely reviews/follows/favourites guilt-tripped me into finally sitting down and just getting this done! So thanks for that XD! Seriously though you don't know what it means to me to get such lovely responses from you guys!**

**So yeah, please keep it up, I love reading your comments and knowing what you think of how the story if going so far! **

**ThaliaHuntressGrace: I'd love to see a picture of the family! PM a link or put it in a review or something?! **

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Chapter 8

The Library is silent but for the sound of my feet echoing as I walk across the vaulted entry chamber, towards the long stone desk which sits against the wall at the back of the room. My eye is always drawn to the counter when I walk in - It is a lovely piece of masonry, with thick lines chiselled deep into the stone and inlaid with rubies – perfectly restored after the long years of neglect during Smaug's turn in the mountain.

"Ah, Lady Rúin, lovely to see you again!" A voice says, breaking the quiet and forcing my attention away from the desk to the elderly dwarf man sitting behind it. He smiles at me with watery green eyes and skin so creased it might be made from parchment, and I smile back.

"Surely you aren't surprised, Archivist Lundin?" I question, and he chuckles. "I do hope I am not becoming a bother!"

In truth I have visited the library every day for the past week – since my brief and horrifying encounter with His Majesty. It has become something of a safe haven to me. It is quiet, unbusy and large enough for me to vanish in for a long afternoon without any interruption. My family do not venture here, except Brúin, with attempts to coax me out for a little sparring or perhaps a trip to Dale. I decline each time – for worry of encountering the King under the Mountain.

It is not fear that makes me seek refuge in Erebors grand library – not fear of the King at least, though perhaps of mother. It is humiliation that finds me returning on a daily basis to bury myself in age old scrolls and tattered books of times long forgotten.

"Not at all my Lady," Lundin assures me, his silvery beard wagging as he speaks. "Why I should quite like to see more of today's youth making such frequent visits. Will you be needing assistance?"

I force my eyebrows out of the frown they instantly make at being called a 'youth', to Lundin I certainly am, and I know he means nothing by it. I blink and shake my head, declining any help.

"My thanks, but no, I think I will do just fine on my own." I say. Lundin bows over the desk and I take my leave, walking around the counter and separating wall, into the library proper.

The Library has none of the splendour of the Erebor's shining central chamber, but I still find it mesmerising. It is cavernous in size, stretching back far into the mountain with huge stone pillars to keep it stable – each support carved in the angular style of dwarves, painted with gold and studded with crystals that shine.

Rows upon rows of shelves stretched up towards the impossibly high ceiling, each one over a meter in thickness and all filled with books. Every kind of book, from leather bound, to hard wood casing and the oldest tomes stored within boxes of stone – some new, re-written by the Archivists since their return to Erebor, and some crumbling, faded and falling apart.

After some quiet conversation with the librarians I found out that the library was virtually untouched by Smaug's rampage through the Kingdom under the Mountain – but what the dragon spared, time did not. Most of the books, and there are several thousand here, are all age damaged in some way – restoring them is no mean feat, but a worthwhile one, in my opinion.

I take up a lantern, lighting it carefully and securing the shutter to prevent an open flame near the books. It is not dark in the library – the crystals that adorn the support columns brighten the expansive room and of course there are fires and reflective panels to add light and warmth to the place but without a lantern reading strains the eyes unless you are right next to a larger light source.

Following my usual path I head back into the depths of the library, keeping an eye on the symbols etched into the stone on each of the shelves which mark their number and subject.

"Ah." I smile to myself as I reach my destination, lifting my lantern to illuminate the aisle and spines of books all detailing dwarven history. There is perhaps too much choice here, but I stoop down, directing the light to read the covers and eventually pull out a thin leather bound book which looks old enough to be interesting but not so old as to fall apart in my hands while I read.

With my book tucked safely under my arm I head back the way I came, looking for a place to sit – there are several larger area's set out between some of the shelves with thick stone tables and chairs for reading at. These are typically placed around the crystal pillars or near the light of the fires, to allow easy reading.

I find one shortly, beside a roaring fire which warms me instantly and takes the chill from the stone bench which I set up on. This is a good place, not too close to the library entrance, where I might be spotted by a passing monarch but not so far in that Brúin will get grumpy should he need to come and find me.

With little else left to do I sit back, open my book and lose myself in the history of my ancestors.

.

.

I ignore the quiet shuffling at first, still engrossed in my book and sure that it can't be anything to do with me – the only person who comes looking for me is Brúin and he wouldn't hesitate to interrupt my reading.

"Uhm. Uh – L-lady Rúin?" Someone questions quietly, after a few more moments of silent infighting. I glance up and smile at the young dwarf who is standing back next to the shelf, twisting his fingers nervously in the wool of his scarf.

"Master Ori," I nod. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, Lord Brúin – He came by and.. well he d-din't want to come in but..." Ori stumbled over his words as he tried to unlatch his bag strap. I raise my eyebrows when the youngling pulls out an irregularly shaped package, wrapped in a paper bag and steps forward to offer it to me. "H-He asked me to deliver it t-to you."

"Did he now?" I question, taking the parcel with a frown. It is warm against my hands, and I realised a moment later that my brother has once again bought me lunch, in the form of a pie. I smile to myself and inhale the scent, my stomach rumbling in answer to an unspoken question. "I see, thank you for bringing this to me, Master Ori."

"N-not a problem, Lady Rúin," Ori said, giving me a quick, shuffling bow. "Is there.. uh, anything else I can do for yo-you?"

I smile.

"No, thank you." I tell him. He nods again, bows and makes a hurried departure. I chuckle to myself and shake my head, unwrapping my unexpected lunch.

I have spoken to Ori many times before today, but he always seems nervous about me, blushing and stammering till he is thoroughly embarrassed and has to excuse himself – the only time we have had what I would call a proper conversation is when he talks about his work with the books or indeed his part in the reclaiming of Erebor. He seems to forget himself completely when talking about something he is passionate about, which lasts for several minutes in which he is completely free with his conversation – and then realisation will come crashing back down and he will close up like a river clam and only mumbled forced responses when questioned.

I had worried at first that it was just me, that perhaps I made him nervous for some reason – but Lundin assures me this is not the case and that he is a naturally shy boy, especially around women. I suppose I can understand. In one of the rare conversations where he spoke openly with me, he told me that he was raised by his brother, and likely had little female influence growing up – and of course he is at that age where lady folk are of interest. I chuckle again and make note of my page, pushing my book away to avoid soiling it with any pieces of pie which might miss my mouth.

.

.

I spend several more hours in the library before an annoyed looking Brúin comes looking for me once again. He stomps over to my table and drops himself down onto the bench opposite me, his thick brows pulled down into a frown as he waits for me to pay him some attention.

"What?" I question, not looking up from my book.

"I see you got my gift," He says, waving a hand to the scrunched up bag which held my pie, I nod, still not looking up. "I was worried that little dwarfling wouldn't give it to you."

"Ori is very reliable, you need not fear for your food stuffs with him," I tell him, sighing inwardly because I know I am not going to be allowed to carry on reading with him here. I carefully close the book and look to my brother. "Thank you, for the pie, it was kind of you to bring it me."

"What else could I do?" He asked. "Let you starve, buried in a pile of dusty, boring books till the end of time?"

"Somewhat over dramatic, do you not think?" I say, Brúin snorts and cracks his knuckles.

"Not even! You've hidden yourself away in here every day for the last week!" My brother complains, pouting like a child. "Even father has started to notice your disappearance, and he doesn't care a jot what we get up to, normally. I am beginning to think something is wrong."

I am evidently silent for too long, and confirm my brothers suspicions that all is not well with me, because he leans forwards on the stone table and squints at me – as if he can spot what bothers me if only he looks hard enough. Or not.

Brúin huffs and sits back, looking annoyed. He regards me for a few moments more before pushing to his feet and taking up my lantern in his hand. "Come on, enough sitting here like a sack of old bones, let's do some sparring!"

I groan.

"I'll not take no for an answer," He tells me, coming around the table to hoist me to my feet. I pick up my book and my lunch wrappings, though grudgingly, and follow him out into the central passage. "And while we are at it you can tell me what is wrong with you."

"There is nothing wrong with me." I tell him, turning him around so that I might return my book to it's rightful place.

"Oh aye," Brúin agrees as he swings the lantern this way and that, peering down between shelves with poorly concealed boredom. "There's nothing wrong with you, and I'm an elf maiden."

"Your ears have got quite a shapely point to them, I must say." I tell him, turning back down the correct passage. Out of the corner of my eye I see him touch the rounded tops of his ears self consciously and suppress a chuckle as I ease my book back into it's place.

"My point, _dearest_ sister, is that you are not fine, you are acting very peculiar indeed," He says, turning on his heel when he sees I am done and all but dragging me towards the exit. "And I will find out what is wrong with you even if I have to beat it out of you. In fact that is preferable."

"For you, perhaps." I grumble, making a quick goodbye to Lundin as I am swept out of the grand library doors and out into the corridor. Brúin lets out a laugh and the two of us make our way to the training area – with a quick stop off at my own room to change out of my dress and into something that I do not might getting blood stained.

The training area is empty but for a pair of young dwarf boys who are taking it in turns to beat the stuffing out of a dummy with blunted maces, under the watchful eye of their father. I roll my shoulders, feeling the familiar weight of my most worn tunic against my back as I double check – making sure there are no princes or royals hiding in the shadows. I am satisfied after a moment, and allow Brúin to guide me to the furthest sparring ring, well out of earshot of the other occupants of the training room.

I quickly braid my hair, fingers moving swiftly in a practised motion down it's length till it falls in a thick, heavy plait down my back. My brother and I have a strict policy when fighting each other: No hair pulling - Though in my younger years I was not above tugging on his beard to gain the upper hand – so that is also against the rules.

My brother is grinning widely at me as he takes up position across the ring from me, I frown but mirror him, dropping into a defensive stance.

"So, tell me what troubles you, little sister." Brúin says in a friendly voice which is entirely at odds with the feral expression on his face as he stalks me around the ring. I follow his feet, keeping an equal distance between the two of us.

"You must promise not to tell anyone," I say seriously as we circle. "Especially mother."

"On my honour." He says, quirking an eyebrow.

"And you must promise not to laugh." I add after a moment.

"I will try my hardest." Brúin assures me, though I don't think I can count on him trying too hard once I retell my story to him.

"Very well," I say, cautiously taking a step forwards to break our rotation. This is enough for my brother and he launches himself forwards with surprising speed for a dwarf his size. He grabs me around the waist and squeezes. "I threw a book at the King under the Mountain." I gasp out.

"You did what?" He grunts as I slam an elbow down on his shoulders, once, twice, until he releases me.

"A book," I repeat, rubbing a hand across my stomach. My brother comes in close again, and pulls his fist back, aiming a punch for my face. I catch his fist in my own hands and strain against the weight he forces into the punch. "I threw one, at the King."

I twist to the side, releasing Brúin's hand and kicking his legs out from beneath him as he tumbles past me. He lets out a 'ooof' as he hits the ground but strikes out with his own legs, tangling them in mine and sending me crashing down onto the mat with him.

"Thorin Oakenshield?" Brúin questions, grunting as he gets up again. I hop up too, not wanting to still be on the floor when he gains his feet.

"Unless you know of another king?" I question, watching him cautiously. Brúin says nothing for a moment, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he fights back the laugh which I can see bubbling inside of him.

"Well.." He says after a moment, almost choking on his laughter. "I can see why you were hiding away in the library!"

His mirth overtakes his attempt at self control and he breaks down, shaking with laughter till I slam my fist into the side of his head and snap him out of it. He looks up, still grinning and wipes a hand across his eyes, the massages his head.

"That was a cheap shot." He tells me, turning his head till his neck clicks. It's something of a scare tactic for him, though usless on me, since I know him too well to be intimidated by it.

"You weren't paying attention," I tell him, huffing. "And I don't think you were trying not to laugh at all."

"Huh, I suppose not!" He says, smirking. "Why in Mahal's name did you throw a book at him?"

I begin to answer, but Brúin throws himself at me and I spend the next few minutes trying to stop him from turning my face into a pulpy mess, as he is prone to do. It is a struggle, because he is stronger than me, but I manage it well enough and eventually managed to get some distant between the two of us with a few well aimed kicks.

"Well... I was .. reading," I tell him, panting despite myself. I am pleased to say that even Brúin is breathing a little heavily after our grappling match. "It was – it was dark and I ..He startled me... and I just- I just threw it!"

"Poor fellow, Mahal knows you've a strong arm!" Brúin snorts, blocking my first punch but failing to stop the second which I drive into his stomach. "Where did this happen?"

"On a balcony," I tell him, trying to dodge out of his reach, but he grabs me and wraps his arm around my neck. I scrabble to hook my fingers in, to pry him away, but he's too strong and his arm is too think. I settle for raking my booted heel down his shin, then stomp on his foot. He releases me with a grumbling curse and I step away, gasping. "I... wasn't supposed.. to be up there. I wasn't.. expecting company, either."

"Thin book, was it?" Brúin questions unexpectedly, as I circle him again. He gives a measurement with his fingers, an inch or so and I nod.

"Around that," I agree, frowning when he rubs a hand over his thick beard, with an amused expression on his face. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing," He tells me, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture while fighting off another wave of chuckles. "Only I think now I will be able to tell Guard Captain Dwalin where his Majesty received that bruise."

"No!" I gasp out, pressing a hand to my mouth in mortification – as if this couldn't get any worse. "No! Brúin you joke, surely?"

"Would I lie to you, dear sister?" He asks, spreading his arms as if to say he had nothing to hide. Yes, he would lie to me, and does, quite frequently but I have a horrible suspicion that this time he is telling the truth – unless he guessed the size of the book?

"Brúin, please, _please _tell me you are playing an awful prank on me," I say, all but begging. My brother bites his lip and momentarily looks sorry for me, which is when I know he is telling the truth. "No, no, no, no! Oh Mahal, is it noticeable?"

"No, well, not very I should say," Brúin hedges, tapping a finger against his leg. "Not now that it is fading at least, though it was hard to miss at first."

"What do you mean?" I ask, feeling sick to my stomach when I realise I have no idea just _where_ I struck his Majesty with my hastily thrown projectile. I had been too busy getting to my feet to pay much attention to where it had hit him, and of course I had thrown it with all my strength. Oh Mahal!

"Nothing, really, Rúin, it isn't important," Brúin says, smiling and shrugging as if it is all water under the bridge. "Why don't we carry on, I'll even let you hit me in the face, if it'll make you feel better."

While I'm sure hitting my brother in the face will make me feel better on some level I know I won't be able to focus until I know what he's talking about. So I plant my feet and cross my arms over my chest, then stare at him until he gets uncomfortable enough to tell me – which doesn't take long.

"I only meant that – well you hit him in the face with it!" Brúin tells me after a moment's hesitation.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Oh Mahal I am a fool. I should have left Erebor the night it happened. I should have returned to Norinbad and never looked back.

"Rúin it's fine!" Brúin assures me, closing the space between us before clapping a hand down on my shoulder. "It must have bounced off his forehead or something, it was only a little bruise in any case! And his Majesty didn't tell anyone how he got it! Don't worry so!"

I know Brúin is trying to make me feel better, in his own special sort of way, but I am in no way comforted by the fact that it was _only a little bruise_ on the _face_ of my _King._ I groan and not for the first time in my life wish the stone under my feet would open and swallow me whole.

Something stands out to me through my inner turmoil, and that is how my brother has this information. I latch onto this question, hoping it will distract me from my downward spiral of humiliation though I have my doubts, I pursue it anyway, with quiet hope.

"How do you know about this, anyway?" I ask him, and he shrugs slightly.

"Dwalin has been trying to get information about it from the past week," Brúin tells me. I think he is resigned to the fact that we are not going to continue our barely started sparring match and wanders over to the stands to drop himself down onto one of the long stone benches. "He's furious about it, because it happened when his Majesty was out on his own, and as Captain of the Royal Guard, Dwalin feels he is responsible. Which is foolish, because really you are responsible."

"Thank you, brother," I grumble, sitting down next to him and letting my head fall into my hands. "When did you become such wonderful friends with the Captain of the Guard in any case?"

"I have been thinking of trying for a position in the King's guard, did I not tell you?" Brúin asks, I shake my head but don't look up from my misery. "Well anyway I shall have to drop out now."

"What? Why?" I ask, glancing at him through my fingers.

"I don't want to have to fight you, if you plan to be attacking the King all the time!" He says, a grin on his face which I quickly remove as I shove him off the bench. My brother is laughing and I crack a smile because he is a fool, but he has made me feel better, despite myself.

"Come along little sister – I suspect dinner is almost ready, and I am sure mother and father would be happy for your presence," Brúin says as he climbs to his feet, offering me his arm as he does so. "And don't worry, if I see his Highness I will make sure to tell you in good time, so that you might hide!"

"Well I will just stand behind you," I tell him as we exit the training room, having done no training at all. "He'll surely not see me behind your bulk."

"I see you are feeling more and more like yourself." Brúin grumbles as he leads us back to our living quarters where he tells me mother is cooking. Apparently she made a trip to the markets herself, and while she didn't enjoy it nearly as much as my brother and I, she did manage to purchase some supplies for supper.

I am still wearing my training tunic, so I do not mind so much when the potato my mother slaps onto my plate splashes onto my chest. I grimace, wiping off the largest lumps, trying to catch Brúin's eye as I do so – but he is too busy looking despondently at his own plate, where the runny mash is sliding towards his own lap.

My mother has never had much talent for cooking, though she feels as if it is her duty, as a wife and a mother to cook for us on occasion. None of us look forward to such dinners, but we all keep our mouths firmly shut, so's not to hurt her feelings.

"Good of you to join us girl," My dad booms across the table, where I see he is trying unsuccessfully to cut up his piece of pork. "Not healthy, you know, burrowing around in all those books!"

I don't reply for a moment as I watch him trying to saw through the meat, the vein on his forehead bulging with effort. "I was hardly burrowing, father – besides, Brúin has already told me I've spent too much time in the Library."

"Finally showing some sense." My father grumbles, though I'm not sure if he means Brúin or myself. He grits his teeth and finally manages to cut away a piece of the pork, looking triumphant before realising he now has to eat it.

"Did Brúin tell you?" Trúin asks from across the table where she is cautiously lifting a bite of carrot to her mouth. "He's thinking of trying for a place in the King's guard."

"He mentioned it, briefly." I say, with a nod. I cut my brother a glance, just to make sure he isn't thinking of bringing up our previous conversation but he doesn't appear to be paying attention to anything but his own dinner.

"Well I think it is foolish," Mother says, to my surprise, as she seats herself opposite father. I would have thought any excuse to get closer to the king would be welcome, but apparently not? "Why he could be a captain himself if he wanted, why not try for that?"

"It's an honour to protect the King." My father says moodily, and get the feeling they have argued over this already, probably more than once.

"Oh I'm sure it is, only wouldn't it be better to be in command of your own men?" Mother questions, looking from Brúin, to my father and then back again. "Of course it would."

"We would all serve the same man anyway," Brúin mutters, scooping up some potato and shovelling it into his mouth before it can slip off the fork. Most of it appears to end up in his beard anyway. "I can't see that it matters either way."

"It is your decision, I suppose," Mother says, shaking her head in a way that made it clear it was the wrong decision. I smirk to myself. "But we have more pressing matters to attend to. Dalkin I trust you've seen to yours and Brúin's attire?"

"Not yet, dear," My father says, looking up guiltily. "I'll look to it tomorrow."

"Well see that you do!" Mother warns him, shaking her head with a huff. "We've only two days to prepare! We must all look our best!"

"I appear to have missed a substantial and important part of this conversation," I say, frowning slightly as I glance at my mother. "Must all look our best for what?"

"Oh, mother, Rúin doesn't know." Trúin supplies.

"Of course, of course," Mother says, giving a chuckle as if she finds my lack of knowledge amusing. "Rúin, dear, the King is hosting a banquet in two nights time, to introduce Lord Dain to some of his potential brides! I have little doubt he will present Trúin to his cousin, so we must all be there to attend. I've a lovely dress picked out for you!"

* * *

**This, admittedly is a bit of an awkward chapter because of all the moving around in it.. but I hope you like it all the same, and feel Rúin's impending doom at the thought of a Royal banquet! I'm sort of looking forward to writing the next chapter so hopefully it will be less of a wait for this one - AND I fully intend to draw up some doodles of the family at some point, if any of you are interested! Until then, please keep reviewing/favourite/following as you see fit! Much love, till next time! **


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